


The Boy Who Killed God

by SeraMGrigori



Series: Rewrite Our Histories [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Extremely Slow Burn, Gen, Hogwarts, Hogwarts First Year, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Sirius Black & Lily Evans Potter Friendship, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved Sirius Black, Wandless Magic, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2019-10-21 04:31:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 133,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17636087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeraMGrigori/pseuds/SeraMGrigori
Summary: Sirius Black has a secret. Well, no, that's not true. Sirius Black has many secrets. His wand is dying, his parents more or less want to kill him, and there's the small matter of the cursed TOUJOURS PUR tattoo right above his heart, that he's had since he turned eight years old. Sirius Black is no stranger to secrets.Then, Remus Lupin walks into his life.Thus, begins a whole new history - one of darkness, of magic, of bravery, of family - as four boys set out to unwind the endings so many others have written for them.This is the story of the Marauders at Hogwarts and afterwards, and all the love that lies between.This is Year One.





	1. The First Spell

**AUGUST 6, 1971**

 

“Monsieur Auclair?” Regulus asked, his eyes wide and curious. “What will Hogwarts be like?”

Sirius Blacklooked up from his book— _Infamous Tales of European Wizarding Families_ —and eyed his tutor, curious as to how he’d choose to respond. Regulus, of course, had asked their parents this question nearly a dozen times before Walburga had hexed his mouth shut. Neither Orion nor Walburga were particular forthcoming with answers to this particular question, other than furious mutterings of “Mudbloods and blood traitors, roaming the halls like they have the right to be there.”

Alphonse Auclair, the gruff and most recent tutor for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, let out a grunt. “Haven’t the foggiest,” he grit out. “Went to Durmstrang, didn’t I? That’s where all the great pure-blood houses go, I expect.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’re not from a great house, _Auclair_. You’re one step up from a blood traitor,” he said with a sneer. He didn’t particularly like to point it out, but it was true. He’d heard his mother say it nearly a hundred times. The Auclairs, though great in numbers now, were scattered all around France and Western Europe. That being said, they were a relatively young line of pure-bloods. Nothing compared to the awe-inspiring lineage of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. “Besides,” Sirius said, ignoring Auclair’s glower and turning to Regulus, “Durmstrang’s full of nothing but dark wizards. Hogwarts is way more fun. ‘Dromeda told me so.”

“Hogwarts,” Auclair said, baring his yellowing teeth, “has had no shortage of their own bits of riffraff over the years.”

“Are the ceilings really enchanted to look like the stars?” Regulus asked, ignoring the tension between Sirius and Auclair.

Sirius tried to hide his smile. He’d told Regulus about the ceiling in the dining hall after reading about it in _Hogwarts: A History_. Regulus always loved the stars.

“‘Course not,” Auclair said before Sirius could reply. “I expect Hogwarts’s ceilings are perfectly normal.”

“And you would know this _how_ , exactly?” Sirius shot back. “Seeing as you have no imagination to speak of and went to _Durmstrang_ , how would you know what Hogwarts’s ceilings look like?”

“Wonder and awe are mere parlor tricks to make Muggles and Mudbloods remember their place,” Auclair growled. “No respectable wizarding institution would waste the time and resources on such _audacious_ and _tedious_ spellwork, when there’s practical magical instruction to be done.”

Annoyed, Sirius reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a folded bit of parchment. It bore his name and a broken wax seal. “Even so,” he said, waiving the letter in Auclair’s face, “Mother and Father seem to have decided Hogwarts is best. Got my letter a few days ago.”

“Yes, of course you did,” Alphonse said, his nose wrinkling at the parchment. “’Suppose a brat like you will be sorted into Hufflepuff. No spine to you whatsoever. No stomach for the, ah… More demanding magic.”

 _Hufflepuff?_ Sirius nearly cringed at the thought.

“That so?” Sirius replied, instead, throwing a wink at Regulus. Sirius flexed the fingers of his right hand, reaching for the tingle of magic that seemed to dwell just beneath the surface of his skin.

A bolt of red light shot from Sirius’s pointer finger and hit Auclair square in the chest. The tutor’s long, wiry hair stood straight up, as if he’d been electrocuted, and instantly turned from a stunning white to a bright, flamingo pink.

Regulus rolled off his chair onto the floor, clutching his stomach, as he collapsed in a fit of laughter.

Sirius smirked and snapped his book closed. He wiggled his fingers playfully, the magic still dancing between them. “How’s that for audacious and tedious?” he said.

Regulus just laughed harder.

“Why, you little—” Auclair reached into the pocket of his robe for his wand, pointed it, and muttered a curse.

Sirius was ready. He leaped out of his chair, throwing the book in the general direction of Auclair, and dived behind the coffee table. Auclair’s curse, having missed Sirius by quite a significant margin, hit the high-backed armchair in which he’d been sitting instead. The arm chair let out a shriek and contorted in what Sirius guessed was the chair-equivalent of constipation.

“Ah, Auclair,” Sirius chided. “You aren’t supposed to curse us. What would Mother say, if you deprived he of the immense pleasure of doing it herself?”

Auclair roared in fury, drowning out the shrieking chair.

Regulus howled, tears streaming down his face, grin wild and unable to cease his fit of laughter.

Auclair readjusted, aiming again for Sirius, but before he could mutter a spell, Sirius stood up, meeting his tutor in a well-practiced dueling pose. Except instead of a wand, Sirius Black had only his fingers and the magic coursing through his veins.

Another red bolt shot from Sirius’s fingertips, once more hitting Auclair directly in the chest. This time, his once-expensive, dark green robes changed into a shade of neon orange that greatly clashed with his bright pink hair.

Regulus cackled and roared, clapping his hands when he had to stop laughing to catch his breath.

A string of French curse words flew from Auclair’s mouth as he looked down at himself. Then, turning from Sirius, Auclair grabbed Regulus by the back of his neck, his wand trained on Regulus’s forehead.

Instantly, the triumphant smile disappeared from Sirius’s face. Regulus let out a small whimper.

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ ,” Sirius growled, trying to ignore the fact that his voice cracked when he spoke.

A wicked, twisted grin spread across Auclair’s face. “Ah, there’s that Slytherin fury. I knew it was there somewhere.”

“Sirius—” Regulus choked out, but Auclair silenced him with a flick of his wand.

Sirius grit his teeth together. “Let him go. He didn’t do anything. You want to punish me, so _do it_. Not him.”

“And still with that brazen stupidity,” Auclair sneered. “So unbecoming of the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.”

“ALPHONSE!” roared a voice from the doorway.

All three of them turned to see the looming, well-to-do shape of Walburga Black watching the scene unfold with something akin to hellfire blazing in her soulless, grey eyes.

“Release my _son_ , Alphonse,” she snapped, and instantly, Auclair obeyed. Even a cretin like Auclair knew better than to test the patience of Walburga Black. Regulus tumbled to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, brushing off his robes and hovering close to Sirius’s side. Sirius didn’t miss the tremor that went through his younger brother’s body.

“Sirius!” Walburga said, her voice a little too loud, a little too grating on his already-frayed nerves for Sirius to entirely hide his flinch. His mother gestured at his tutor. “Fix him. _Now_.”

Knowing better than to talk back to his mother, Sirius suppressed an eye-roll and flicked his wrist at Auclair. His robes instantly reverted to their original color, as did his hair, save for a bright pink streak, right down the center of his scalp.

Walburga gave him a harsh glare, her lips pressed in a thin line.

“Sorry,” Sirius muttered, though he was not even remotely so. He gestured to the sparks of magic flickering between his fingers. “Best I can do. It’s still a bit unpredictable.”

This was, of course, not even the least bit true. Sirius Black had considered himself the resident expert in wandless magic since he turned eight years old. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, naturally, was warded against all sorts of magic, both protecting from the outside and concealing the secrets within. With no enforceable restriction on underage magic, Sirius had perfected a series of simple hexes and jinx, all easily accessible with varying flicks of his wrist.

Regulus, though a year younger, was not nearly as skilled or practiced as his older brother in wandless magic. The magic he displayed was predominantly accidental, as was standard of a wizard his age. Sirius, on the other hand, had something of a knack for charms and enchantments, despite never having owned a proper wand.

Walburga, of course, knew all of this, and had bragged to Druella about his knack for wandless magic whenever the occasion to lord Sirius over his cousins arose. However, now, looking at the pink streak in Auclair’s hair, Walburga said nothing to contradict Sirius’s excuse. Instead, she said, “We’re going to Diagon Alley.”

Sirius blinked, unable to hide his surprise.

“You, apparently, are in need of a proper wand,” Walburga said. “Kreacher and your father shall meet us there. Come, now, Sirius.” She held out her hand.

With a wide-eyed glance at his brother, Sirius went to his mother’s side, though he did not take her hand. Instead, she grabbed his bicep, his arm clutched tightly between her well-manicured fingers.

Sirius tried and failed to suppress a grimace. He did not particularly like to be touched, even if it were his mother and it didn’t inherently _hurt_ to be touched. Not unless she was also in the process of cursing him. The Blacks, themselves, were not a particularly physical family. Personal space was valued above all else and physical contact, if ever utilized, was usually accompanied by a certain degree of punishment.

Regulus, of course, was his one exception. Touching Regulus neither came with the burning pain of physical contact with someone of a lesser bloodline, nor did Sirius ever view it as a punishment to have Regulus’s hand clasped in his, or his hand resting on his younger brother’s shoulder. It was merely comfort, plain and simple, between two young, yet long-suffering souls.

Sirius tried to pry his arm out of his mother’s grasp, only to earn himself a harsh yank that nearly ripped his shoulder from its socket.

“Regulus, back to your studies,” Walburga commanded.

Regulus immediately obeyed, picking up the book that Sirius had hurled at Auclair and opening it up to a random page, pretending to pick up right where he left off.

Walburga turned her hellfire-gaze to Auclair. “Alphonse, I leave you in charge.” He nodded, obediently. Walburga lowered her voice. “I feel it necessary to remind you that the discipline of _my_ sons is _mine_ and mine alone. You will not raise a hand against either of them again, no matter what this one might do.” She shook Sirius, to emphasize her point. “Am I understood?”

“Of course, my lady,” Auclair said with a slight bow, a lock of his pink-streaked hair falling in his face.

Sirius didn’t bother hiding his smirk. Regulus watched them, and Sirius didn’t miss the flicker of fear at the thought of being left alone with their recently slighted tutor. He strained to catch Regulus’s eye. “I’ll bring you back something, yeah?” Sirius said.

Regulus gave him a weak smile and nodded.

Without another word, Walburga yanked Sirius down the portrait-lined hallway, all the way to the entrance hall. “We will discuss your punishment later,” she hissed in his ear.

Sirius swallowed the bile rising in his throat and tried, instead, to think of the wonders that awaited him in Diagon Alley.

 

                                                                                                    

 

Orion Black and Kreacher were waiting outside the Leaky Cauldron when Walburga Apparatedacross the street, Sirius plastered closely to her side. As soon as the woozy feeling settled in his stomach, Sirius took a good step away from his mother, extracting himself from her and going to stand opposite his father.

“Sirius,” Orion greeted him, before planting an obligatory kiss on Walburga’s cheek.

“Father. Kreacher,” Sirius said in return, as Orion ushered them all through the doors to the Leaky Cauldron.

Sirius had been here before, most recently with his cousin, Andromeda, the year before to celebrate her graduation from Hogwarts. She’d escorted him and Regulus to Florean Fortescue’s Ice-cream Parlour and the Black brothers finally met Andromeda’s secret boyfriend, but only after they’d been sworn to secrecy. Ted Tonks was a Muggle-born wizard, the first one Sirius had ever properly met. Pain had shot up his arm when Ted shook his hand, culminating in a all-consuming burning caused by the tattoo on Sirius’s chest. He’d managed, however, to keep a straight face and hide his sigh of relief, when finally Ted released his hand and the burning stopped. Andromeda had shot him a grateful look and Sirius had felt rather brave, for having endured the pain of touching a Muggle-born. Regulus, on the other hand, had let out a whimper of pain and yanked his hand away from Ted, only after a second, before fumbling an excuse about too much roughhousing.

Sirius wasn’t entirely certain as to how Andromeda had been able to so casually touch Ted throughout their excursion. He knew for certain, despite the many rows she’d had with her parents, that Andromeda had the same tattoo that he and Regulus did. Every member of the Black family shared the brand: _Toujours Pur_ , in black ink, right above the heart, given to each new branch of the family tree on their eighth birthday, as a sign of eternal fidelity to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

The tattoo, of course, was enchanted. It _burned_ , when in skin-to-skin contact with anyone of a lesser bloodline. Even with pure-blooded blood traitors, the tattoo sent spasms of pain throughout his body. Touching a Muggle-born—even just to shake his hand—was something akin to the Cruciatus curse.

Sirius should know. After meeting Ted Tonks, he was familiar with both.

The Leaky Cauldron was relatively empty, compared to the last time Sirius had been there. Now, it was early August, and as most families tended to wait until closer to the start of the school year, most of the patrons were well beyond their Hogwarts years. Walburga and Orion ushered him and Kreacher through the Cauldron without much dallying.

Once in Diagon Alley, proper, Walburga pulled her family to a stop. She looked from Orion to Sirius, then finally to Kreacher. “Kreacher, go fetch Sirius’s cauldrons, books, and quills,” she said.“The three of us are going to Madam Malkin’s. Orion, you need new robes as well.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Kreacher said, bowing his head, before slinking off.

Sirius tried to hide his cringe. The last time he’d been fitted for robes was right before his grandmother’s funeral, nearly two years ago. It had been a rather dreadful experience, considering Madam Malkin was a half-blood and he’d tried to jerk away nearly every time she touched him. He ended up with more pins in his arm than one of his poor dead grandmother’s pin cushions.

“Don’t you whine,” Walburga snapped, catching the look on his face. “I owled her both of your measurements last week. Try them on—ensure that the likes of _her_ didn’t muck up something so plainly simple—then we’ll be gone. I have other business to tend to today. I do not have time to dawdle in a half-blood’s shop.”

“Indeed,” huffed Orion.

When Sirius was finally done changing into his own robes—after more than a few minor adjustments to his new robes and decidedly more than a few mutterings of, “Incompetent, half-blood. Really, Orion, when is someone respectable going to open up a tailoring shop in Diagon Alley?”—he strolled to the front of the shop to see his parents standing over a small table filled with memorabilia from each of the four Hogwarts houses. They hadn’t noticed him just yet, so Sirius stopped short of getting their attention, listening instead to their hushed voices.

“We should get him a few Slytherin ties and scarves,” Orion said, testing the material of one of the ties. “That way we won’t need to send it to him once he’s already at school.”

“He hasn’t been properly sorted yet,” Walburga replied, her nose turned up a little.

“He’ll be Slytherin,” Orion said, incredulous. “Of course, he’ll be Slytherin. Every Black that’s gone to Hogwarts has been Slytherin.”

Walburga’s lips formed a thin line.

Orion inched closer to his wife and lowered his voice. “You think he won’t be?” he hissed, the threat evident in his tone.

Walburga grabbed up a scarf. “Of course. Sirius will be Slytherin,” she snapped.

She grabbed a few more Slytherin scarves, then turned to see Sirius standing there, trying his best to not look as though he’d been eavesdropping. She snatched the tie out of Orion’s hand and, with the scarves she’d picked, she shoved them into Sirius’s arms. “Here,” she said forcibly. “Slytherin ties and scarves, so you’re prepared. I grabbed an extra scarf for Regulus. You did say you’d get him something, didn’t you?”

Sirius took a moment to get his bearings. “Yes, I did.” He hadn’t exactly had a scarf in mind when he’d been thinking of what to get Regulus, but he didn’t dare contradict his mother. He’d rather been thinking about getting Regulus something from the joke shop Andromeda had mentioned in her last letter—Gambol and Japes, or something—though he didn’t dare bring this up with his parents. The Blacks had no time for such trivial things.

Sirius figured that, sooner or later, both his parents would be engaged in other things, affording him the perfect opportunity to sneak away to find the joke shop. It’d happened before. Orion and Walburga, though overwhelmingly strict, were not exactly the most attentive parents.

Looks like he wouldn’t have to wait long. Walburga looked him up and down and said, “Good. A scarf will do fine. Orion, pay the half-blood—though I hardly think she deserves it, with all those adjustments she made to Sirius’s robes. Honestly, I might not even have bothered sending measurements ahead, for as long as it took!” She shooed her husband towards the counter and a red-faced Madam Malkin. “I have a meeting at Gringotts and you best make your way to Knockturn Alley.”

Ducking his head and stumbling slightly under the mass of the box that held his new robes and scarves, Sirius tumbled out the door, only to run smack into someone. Naturally, the box went flying, and Sirius himself landed on his arse.

Rolling his eyes, Sirius flicked his wrist and the box of robes and scarves righted itself, shaking off dust as the robes folded neatly back into their box. He carefully tucked the box under his arm, so as not to drop it again.

“Merlin, sorry! You alright, mate? Wait—woah. You can do wandless magic?”

A hand grabbed his arm and yanked him up. Sirius winced. The touch burned—enough to make him want to yank away just to avoid the pain—but it was nothing like touching Ted Tonks or Madam Malkin. Pure-blood, blood traitor, then, if he’d have to guess. Sirius hastily shook off the helping hand and finally got a good look at the other boy. He was tall—nearly a head taller than Sirius, much to his chagrin—with brown skin and black eyes. His hair stood up in every direction and, unlike Auclair, Sirius didn’t think it was the result of a curse. His hair just seemed to naturally… do _that._ A pair of glasses sat slightly askew on his nose.

“Yeah, uh,” Sirius began. “Wandless magic isn’t so tough once you’ve got the hang of it.”

Sirius flicked his wrist again and the boy’s glasses straightened on his face.

The boy grinned, all toothy and white. “That’s so _cool!_ ” he exclaimed. “I’ve only been able to do some accidental stuff so far. Made dinner burn once, when I sneezed too hard, but nothing like what you just did. You’ll have to teach me!”

Sirius smiled. Blood traitor or no, Sirius decided he liked this boy. “You’re on, mate.”

A man came stumbling towards them, the near-spitting image of the boy in front of him, just about fifty-some years his senior. The man wore a relatively nice set of robes—nothing like the finery that graced the Blacks’ wardrobes, mind you—and had the same outlandishly untamable hair as the boy, just streaked with significantly more grey.

“James?” the man said, looking around. “Where’d you get off to, then? Oh, Merlin, there you—”

The man pulled up short, once he caught sight of Sirius.

The boy—James—looked from the man to Sirius, before thrusting out his hand under Sirius’ nose. “James Potter,” he said.

_Potter?_

Sirius eyed the hand for a second, wary, before he drew a breath and shook it once, twice, then released, managing to hide the glimmer of pain that shot through his arm. (Mostly. James kind of gave him a weird look.) “Sirius Black,” he said, matter-of-factly.

James’s face fell, as Sirius knew it would. He’d heard of the Potters—from his mother’s furious ramblings about, “All the sodding blood traitors allowed to walk free these days.” Sirius was rather certain that James Potter had heard just as many stories about the Blacks. Gossip was like currency amongst pure-blood families, even blood traitor pure-blood families.

“SIRIUS!” came his mother’s voice.

 _Oh, ruddy brilliant_ , Sirius thought. She’ll think he’s consorting with blood traitors, then. He’d be dead for sure if he let on that he actually liked the Potter boy.

Orion came out of the shop behind his wife, then pulled up short when he caught sight of the Potters. “Fleamont,” Orion said, not bothering to keep the disdain out of his voice. “I see that hair potion of yours is as useless as ever.”

Sirius would have blushed if he had any sense of shame left in him, after years and years of his parents being unspeakably rude to anyone they deemed as less than themselves.

James Potter, on the other hand, flushed red in anger. He looked between Orion and Sirius, clearly ready to explode and defend his family’s honor.

As subtly as he could manage, Sirius shook his head, warning James off. He didn’t particularly care to see James fall victim to one of his father’s more subtle and, well, _legal_ curses. Sirius had no doubt that Orion would curse James, despite being in the middle of Diagon Alley, especially if James questioned Orion’s authority.

James gave Sirius a look, opened his mouth all the same, but only stopped when Fleamont Potter rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. “James here will be starting his first year at Hogwarts in September,” Mr. Potter said, not bothering to hide the glint of pride in his eye as he spoke. “Your Sirius is too, if I remember correctly.”

Walburga grabbed Sirius by the back of his neck and maneuvered him in front of her. She placed her hands on both his shoulders and kept him there with an iron grip. “Yes,” she said. “He is. Sure to be top of his class, too.”

Mr. Potter smiled, and if Sirius didn’t know better, he’d almost say there was _pity_ in his eyes. “I’m sure,” he replied. Then, to Sirius, he said, “That was an impressive bit of magic you did there, son. And without a wand, at that.”

James beamed at him. Sirius managed a small smile and a muttered, “Thanks.” He tried not to notice how his mother’s grip tightened.

“And Regulus?” Mr. Potter asked, politely.

At this, Sirius smirked. Sirius _loved_ bragging about his younger brother. “He’ll start next year. He’s quite good at flying, too. He wants to try out for Quidditch as soon as he can.”

“Sirius,” Orion hissed.

James’s smile widened and he ignored Orion Black. Sirius liked James more, just for that. Not many people have the gal and the daring to so blatantly disregard Sirius’s father. “Really?” said James. “I _love_ Quidditch! Dad got me a Nimbus for my birthday last spring, but I can’t bring it just yet. First years aren’t allowed to try out. Reckon I’ll make a decent Chaser, though, next year.”

Sirius grinned. Regulus was the one who loved Quidditch most amongst them, but after years of listening to his little brother go on about it, Sirius had become quite the fan himself. “What’s your team, then?” Sirius asked.

“Holyhead Harpies,” James said. “Mostly ‘cos of my mum. She has a friend on the team. Who’s your favorite?”

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but Orion cleared his throat, rather obnoxiously. Sirius bowed his head to hide his annoyance, and did not answer James. “We really must be going, Fleamont,” Orion said. “Nice seeing you, then. Come along, Walburga.”

“Yes, goodbye, then,” Mr. Potter said, with a small, polite wave.

Pleasantries fulfilled, Orion stalked off towards Knockturn Alley. With her hand still latched onto Sirius’s shoulder, Walburga followed her husband. Sirius managed a small smile in James’s direction before he was dragged after his mother.

“You are not to associate with that _boy_ , Sirius Black,” Walburga hissed, though they were not quite out of earshot. Glancing back, Sirius could tell that James had heard. His dark features—so obviously almost always graced with a smile—fell into a scowl at Walburga’s words. “Always associating with Muggles and Mudbloods, those Potters. Blood traitors, the lot of them.”

Sirius didn’t say anything. He merely tailed after his parents, box tucked under his arm, and tried to figure out how he was going to get to Gambol and Japes without Orion or Walburga noticing.

His parents parted ways, as Orion ducked into Knockturn Alley. Walburga and Sirius soon found Kreacher, laden with so many boxes already that Sirius didn’t even feel guilty about handing the house-elf one more from Madam Malkin’s. His mother sent the house-elf off again, this time to go wait for Orion at the Leaky Cauldron, before finally dragging Sirius into Gringotts.

A well-dressed, but otherwise grubby goblin greeted with a slight bow, and a reverently muttered, “Mrs. Black. Mr. Black. So good of you to come.”

Walburga smoothed out her green, silk dress and turned to face her son. “Sirius, stay here. I shall return shortly.”

Sirius, of course, highly doubted this was the case. His mother’s visits with the Gringotts’s money keepers hardly ever qualified as _short._ A plan already taking flight in his mind, Sirius said, “Of course, Mother.”

She pointed a manicured finger at a bench in the corner, by the entrance. “Stay right there, Sirius, and do not leave this place,” she warned. She gave him a hard look, before following the grubby goblin into the vaults.

Sirius strolled over to the bench and sat. He waited all of four minutes—just long enough to ensure that his mother’s meeting was not going to be an unpredictably short one—before he strolled up to the goblin waiting behind the counter.

Reaching into his pocket, Sirius pulled out the bag of money he’d been saving for Regulus’s gift. The goblin at the counter glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. Sirius flashed him a smile. “Ten Galleons, to not tell her I’m gone,” he told the goblin, sliding the coins across the counter.

The goblin eyed the money, but did not take it.

“Ten more,” said Sirius, “if I return and she still doesn’t know I was ever gone.”

The goblin smirked, and took the coins, pocketing it in his tiny suit. “Pleasure doing business, Mr. Black.”

“Ta,” Sirius said, before hurrying back out to Diagon Alley.

 

                                                                                                    

 

It didn’t take long at all for Sirius to locate Gambol and Japes, as the storefront was a painted obnoxious, alternating shades of yellow and blue. Inside, it was just as Andromeda described: wizarding candies and treats lining one wall, jokes and items of mischief lining the other three. Sirius went directly to the back wall—he’d be caught dead with candy in Grimmauld Place—and began pouring over the shelves.

There was a one-eyed parrot, wearing an eye-patch, resting on a perch in the middle of the store. Underneath its perch, there was a handwritten card that read, _Silas, the Slightly Psychic Pirating Parrot_. Sirius suppressed a laugh, and weaved his way through the shelves. Though there were quite a few other patrons currently perusing the shelves of Gambol and Japes, Silas’s one eye followed Sirius as he made his way around the shop.

“ _Hello, Darkness, my old friend,_ ” the bird sang, in an atrociously off-key screech.

Sirius gave it an incredulous look, but turned his attention back to the wonders before him. Dungbombs, Whatz-itz, Exploding Quills… Sirius couldn’t take his eyes off them, the possibilities utterly overwhelming.

 _Though not,_ he thought, upon further consideration, _the type of thing Regulus would like._

“Tell me something,” a voice said behind him. Sirius froze. “When we’re at Hogwarts, are you ever going to speak to me?”

Sirius turned to stare into the bright, black eyes of James Potter. “And why wouldn’t I?” he asked.

James shrugged, hands stuffed in the pockets of his robes. “I expect you’ll be in Slytherin, then, seeing how you’re a Black and all.”

“And you’ll be Gryffindor. What’s your point?”

James scoffed. “Slytherins and Gryffindors don’t exactly get along.”

Sirius considered this. “You and I get on fine.”

“Do we?” James challenged, almost as if he were looking for a fight.

“Thought so,” Sirius said, casually. He’d been surrounded his whole life by people looking to pick fights; he knew how to avoid escalating the situation.

“What about what your mum said, about me being a blood traitor?” James asked, with a huff. “Do you agree with that?”

Sirius shrugged. “Don’t know if that’s something for me to agree or disagree with,” he said, absently rubbing the tattoo on the left side of his chest, under his robes.

“What the hell does that—” James snapped.

Sirius cut him off. “Think I know better than anyone that you don’t get to choose your family, Potter.” He paused, reveling a bit in James’s curious expression. “You don’t get to choose your fate and you don’t get to trade in the lot your given for something better.”

James stared at him, unblinking, as if Sirius had suddenly sprouted horns.

Sirius let out a sigh. “I’ve got to believe, despite all that, that I do still get to choose some things for myself. So…” Sirius stuck out his hand. “Hi. My name’s Sirius Black.”

James eyed his hand, like he didn’t quite believe him, but took it all the same. “James Potter,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Black.”

Sirius smiled and held onto his hand for as long as the pain permitted, which, given their first handshake, was a vast improvement. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Potter,” Sirius said, finally drawing his hand away and suppressing a sigh of relief.

From the center of the room, the one-eyed parrot squawked loudly. “ _Black and Potter, Black and Potter. Don’t they make good cannon fodder?”_ Silas, the Slightly Psychic Pirating Parrot chanted.

Both boys froze, looked first at the bird, then each other, then burst out laughing. 

“What’s it mean, cannon fodder?” snorted James, between laughs. “If you or I were ever to fight a war, we’d have whole armies to fight in our names, now, wouldn’t we?”

“Of course,” Sirius said, with a smirk. “People would volunteer to die in our names, Mr. Potter. There’ll be no ‘cannon fodder’ for the likes of us.”

“Stupid bloody bird.” Wiping a tear from his eye, James stuffed his hands back in his pockets. “What brings you to Gambol and Japes, Mr. Black?”

“Well,” said Sirius, looking around. “I had hoped I’d find something for Regulus—my brother. Have any suggestions?”

“Loads,” said James. “What’s he into?”

Sirius considered this. Regulus loved Quidditch, of course, but already had his own broom as well as memorabilia from all his favorite teams. He had a copy of nearly every book he could possibly want—thanks to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place’s extensive and slightly illegal library—and their parents had given the both of them the finest wizarding chess set that money could buy last Christmas. Sirius wanted to give Regulus something special, something that’ll keep Sirius close while he’s at school.

Then, remembering Regulus’s reaction to learning about Hogwarts’s Great Hall, Sirius said, “He loves the stars. We’re all named after them, obviously, but Regulus has always loved learning about them and mapping them.”

“I know just the thing,” James said, with a wide smirk.

James stepped towards him and, without a second thought, swung an arm across Sirius’s shoulder. Rather shocked by this development, Sirius didn’t have time to suppress the yelp of pain that shot through him, but he didn’t shrink away. The pain, though not as intense as Sirius knew it could be, was hard not to notice, and after a few seconds, he ducked away from the friendly arm.

“Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing again at the tattoo as the burning faded back to nothing. “Not used to it, ’s all. It’s nothing you did.”

James gave him a weird look, then slapped his arm. “Don’t worry about it.” He turned back to the shelves before he could see Sirius flinch.

“ _For ye be warned, young Sirius Black. You’ll lose your soul and won’t get it back,_ ” Silas, the Slightly Psychic Pirating Parrot sang.

Sirius froze. He turned towards the bird. “What did you say?”

The bird repeated the line, over and over.

Now, Sirius wasn’t one to unquestioningly believe prophecy—too unpredictable, far too vague for his taste—but he couldn’t help feeling overexposed at the parrot’s words. Something cold, with long, icy fingers settled into his bones and began to tug at his heart, clawing it open, exposing the black nothingness to the rest of the world.

Suppressing a shudder, Sirius schooled his face back to neutral. He met James’s eyes, and shrugged it off as best he could. “Sodding chicken.”

Together they turned slowly towards the bird, who was now whistling a rather well known children’s tune. One of the owners, standing next to the parrot—Grigori Gambol, from the name pinned to his robes—shot James and Sirius a sheepish grin. “Sorry, lads,” he said. “Ol’ Silas here gets a bit worked up. He don’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Sirius ignored the nothingness that seemed to burrow its way into the very core of his being. He turned back to James. “So,” he said, forcing his voice to sound normal. “What’ve you got?”

James reached for an ornately decorated tea-cup on the top shelf. “Cosmos-in-a-Cup,” he said, rather proud of himself. “Fill it with water, then splash it wherever, and all you’ll see is stars. If your smart enough, you might even be able to charm the stars to stay put, like in the Great Hall at Hogwarts.”

Sirius smirked. Oh, he was definitely smart enough. “Brilliant. Thanks, mate,” he said, sincerely. “Now, what about you? What are you in the market for, Mr. Potter?”

James shrugged. “Nothing, really. I loaded up on most of this stuff last week. My dad comes down to Diagon Alley quite a bit for work.” James rubs the back of his neck. “I just came in here to see if you’d talk to me. You seemed decent enough, when you met, you know.”

“Decent?” Sirius wrinkled his nose. “I’m wounded, Mr. Potter. Never say such a thing about me again.”

James laughed. “You have my word, Mr. Black.”

Sirius glanced out the window. Seeing as there was no shrieking woman tearing out of Gringotts and shouting his name followed by numerous obscenities, Sirius figured he was still in the clear. “Let’s pay for this, then,” he said. “I’ve got to get back to my mother before she notices I’m not where she left me.”

Sirius walked up to Grigori Gambol and handed him the money for the Cosmos-in-a-Cup, expertly avoiding any actual physical contact with Gambol. Sirius wasn’t too keen on finding out Gambol’s blood status right now. Then, together with James, the two boys turned to exit the shop.

Silas, the Slightly Psychic Pirating Parrot, of course, chose that moment to screech out:

 

“ _Sirius Black, how tragically flawed_

_Thought he might be the man to kill God_

_Now Nothing’s dictating_

_And that dark kiss is waiting_

_For the murder of the man who killed God.”_

 

This time, Sirius felt his face flash red. Who the _hell_ was this bird, that it thinks it knows enough about him to be saying such things for all the sodding world to hear?

James comes to a stop next to him, at the entrance of the shop, both their backs to the bird and proprietor. Sensing his reaction, James said, “Sirius, it’s a stupid bird. It doesn’t mean anything. Besides, it’s only _slightly_ psychic. There’s a good chance he just likes writing limericks.”

Sirius ignored him entirely. “Do you want to see a nasty little parlor trick?”

James hesitated, but only slightly. “Hell, yes.”

“Thought so,” Sirius said. “Do you have a wand yet?”

James gave him a look. “What? No. Dad’s got me an appointment with Ollivander next week.”

Sirius smirked. “Excellent,” he said, and flicked his wrist.

James turned just in time to see all the feathers on Silas, the Slightly Psychic Pirating Parrot disappear into thin air. The bird—now looking rather like a plucked chicken with an abnormally large beak—tried to let out an indignant squawk, only to find that its vocal cords were no longer functioning properly. The sound that came out of the bird’s beak instead sounded rather like a foghorn.

“Salazar’s balls, Sirius!” James laughed. “How did you—”

“SILAS!” wailed Grigori Gambol.

Silas let out another long honk.

“We should get out of here,” James said, making a grab for Sirius’s arm.

Sirius dodged him, narrowly avoiding James’s hand, and waved him off. “It’ll be fine. Trust me?”

After a second, James nodded.

Gambol turned his attention to Sirius and James, a look of pure rage making the vein in his forehead pop. “YOU TWO!” he roared.

Sirius tried to look as innocent as possible. He was quite good at it, really, having perfected his _who, me?_ face at a young age, whilst tormenting Bellatrix and Narcissa at any given Black family function. James, on the other hand, looked as guilty as a sinner in church.

“What?” Sirius said, with just the right amount of practiced aristocratic arrogance. “Oh, my. James, look what’s happened to Silas!”

James, with his eyes wide, looked back and forth from Sirius to the bird. “What—oh. Poor sodding parrot,” he managed.

“It was you two,” growled Gambol, pointing a finger at them. “Ol’ Silas was singin’ about you, Black. That’s why you’ve done him in.”

“Couldn’t have been us,” Sirius replied, shaking his head.

“How’s that then?” snapped Gambol. James gave him a look that asked the same question.

“First of all,” Sirius said, “we’re both going to be first years, which means we can’t use magic outside of Hogwarts without getting the Ministry on our tails. Do you see any owls from the Ministry?”

Gambol waited a moment, but no owls appeared. “No,” he muttered.

“Second,” Sirius continued. “Neither of us have wands. I’m off to see Ollivander next and James here won’t be around to see him for another week. How could we have done that to Silas without wands?”

Gambol glanced suspiciously between the two of them. “Turn out your pockets, then,” he said. “Prove you’ve got no wands.”

Sirius and James obeyed and there were indeed no wands to be found.

Gambol leaned against the nearest shelf, both confused and upset.

Sirius flashed Gambol a smile, feeling a little bad about what he’d done to Silas. “Cheer up, mate,” he said. “Could’ve been any number of the things in this shop that backfired.” Gambol nodded along in absent agreement. Sirius turned towards the door and winked at James. “I reckon the foghorn thing should only last an hour or so. Then ol’ Silas will be back to spewing out uncomfortable and unwarranted prophecies. The feathers, ah… The feather’s will have to grow back on their own, I’m afraid. Shame, that.”

James and Sirius fled the shop before they were able to witness Gambol’s reaction.

“That was bloody brilliant!” James said, once they’d rounded a corner, well out of sight of Gambol and Japes. “You’ve got to teach me how to do wandless magic! It’s a bloody lifesaver.”

“It’s all in the wrist,” Sirius said with a smirk.

James laughed. “But—wait. Why aren’t we—or you, rather. This was all you—getting owls from the Ministry. Technically, we—well, you—did use magic outside of school.”

Sirius waved him off. “Wandless magic tends to register in the same category as accidental magic, meaning the Ministry isn’t exactly in a hurry to enforce the legislation. Otherwise, they’d have to arrest every poor sod that sets their mother’s cooking on fire when they sneeze.”

James shoved him and Sirius winced once more. Merlin, James Potter was a physical guy. Sirius had never met someone so inclined towards physical contact with virtual strangers. “Hey, I didn’t set her cooking on fire, I turned it straight into charcoals. There were no actual flames involved.”

“Whatever you say, mate,” Sirius said. He glanced down the alley towards Gringotts. “I should probably be off, then, or I’d be pushing my luck well beyond its worth. It’s never good to be caught disobeying Walburga Black.”

James gave him a look that so plainly said, _You call your mum by her first name?_ After a second, he shook it off and beamed at Sirius. Once more, James Potter held out his hand. “Right then. Nice meeting you, Sirius Black. I’ll see you at Hogwarts, where though we shall be in rival houses, we will fall madly in love with each other, start a minor war between our two houses, get married in secret, and off ourselves before the end of the final act.”

Sirius was rather taken aback by this and, for once, didn’t exactly have anything to say.

James laughed at the blank look on Sirius’s face. “It’s a play,” he prompted. Sirius’s face remained blank. “ _Romeo and Juliet._ By William Shakespeare? It’s famous.”

“He’s a Muggle, then, this Shake-sparrow fellow?” Sirius asked.

“Yes.”

“Haven’t read many Muggle books.”

James shook his head and laughed again. “I can tell. No matter. I’ll see you at Hogwarts, Sirius.”

With a slight eye roll and a silenced groan, Sirius—for the third time today, mind you—shook James’s hand. “See you at Hogwarts, James.”

The two boys parted ways, undoubtably friends.

Sirius made it back to Gringotts without a hitch. He slipped the goblin behind the desk his last ten Galleons before once more taking his seat on the bench next to the door. He waited a whole ten minutes before Walburga Black emerged from the vaults, a shiny, new pair of ruby earrings dangling from her ears.

She gestured for Sirius to follow her and he obeyed without a word, the Cosmos-in-a-Cup tucked safely in the inside pockets of his robes.

 

                                                                                                    

 

Sirius mouth dropped open when he walked through the doors of Ollivander’s shop. The shop was packed with shelves, stuffed floor to ceiling with intricately decorated wand boxes of every shape and size. Sirius could _feel_ the magic floating in the air, coursing around him, infusing each wand with a unique flavor, a unique… well, if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say _personality_.

“Do not _gawk_ , Sirius,” Walburga chided. “It’s unbecoming.”

Sirius snapped his mouth shut.

Walburga looked around the shop. “Ollivander is the best in the world at his craft,” his mother said, searching the shelves for said proprietor. “He is not, however, the most prompt.”

As if on cue, Garrick Ollivander emerged from a back room. His robes, though probably once expensive, were now rather shabby and covered in a good amount of flakes and fine powder—sawdust, if Sirius had to guess—but his eyes twinkled as he saw Walburga and Sirius.

“Ah, Mrs. Black,” Ollivander said, nodding to her, rather than shaking her hand. Sirius raised an eyebrow at this. He wondered if he knew not to touch her because of his bloodline, or was merely intimidated by the presence of Walburga Black. “Ebony wood, with a thestral hair, core, if I’m not mistaken. A family heirloom, yes? Made by my grandfather.”

“Yes, of course,” Walburga said, as politely as she could manage.

“May I see it?” Ollivander asked.

Walburga gave a slight nod. She pulled out her wand and offered it to him.

Ollivander very deliberately avoided her fingers as he took the wand, holding it reverently in his hand. Sirius narrowed his eyes. Clearly, Ollivander was avoiding physical contact with his mother, yet he had to have some magic in his blood if his grandfather had made Walburga’s wand. That meant he was either a blood traitor—unlikely, given how highly his mother had spoken of him, and really, she tended to put blood traitors on the same level as Mudbloods—or a half-blood. After being poked and prodded by Madam Malkin all morning—plus the three separate handshakes and slew of casual touches from James Potter—Sirius wasn’t too keen on feeling like his blood had been set on fire again.

“Ah, yes, such a rare wand, this,” Ollivander said, entranced. “Such remarkable beauty, laced with such darkness and potential for danger.”

Sirius almost scoffed. He was quite familiar with the types of curses that came out of that wand. _Darkness_ was a bit of an understatement.

Ollivander carefully handed the wand back to Walburga, again avoiding her fingers. He then proceeded to look Sirius up and down. “Something a bit different for this one, I think,” he said, and Sirius sucked in a breath. _Different_ usually meant punishment in the Black house. “Tell me, Master Sirius, have you yet performed any accidental magic?”

Sirius nodded, opening his mouth to reply, but his mother beat him to it. “He’s quite adept at wandless magic, actually,” Walburga said, matter-of-factly.

“Really?” Ollivander said, surprised. “Quite unusual for a wizard of your age. Would you, perhaps, be able to demonstrate?”

“Sure,” Sirius said, looking around the shop for something to charm. He caught sight of a vase filled with four dead tulips on the front desk. He pointed the tulips out to his mother and Ollivander, reached for his magic, and flicked his wrist. The tulips sprang to life, no longer wilting, but bright yellow and in full bloom. Sirius smirked at Ollivander’s expression and flicked his wrist once more. This time, the four tulip bulbs began singing an Italian opera, in perfect, four part harmony.

“Remarkable,” Ollivander said, applauding quietly.

Sirius flicked his wrist one last time and the bulbs stopped singing.

“Such control of wandless magic is highly unusual, my dear boy, for someone of your age,” Ollivander said. “Best find you a wand to compliment your talent. Cypress is quite good with non-verbal magic, as is ash. Willow too, if it suits you.”

Ollivander flicked his own wand and boxes came flying off the shelves.

Walburga cleared her throat. “Dragon heartstring, I should think for Sirius, Mr. Ollivander,” she said.

Ollivander bit his lip, looked almost like he wanted to argue, but said instead, “Of course, Mrs. Black.”

A few of the boxes he’d pulled flew back onto the shelves.

“Try this one, Master Sirius,” Ollivander said, holding out a dusty, grey wand. “Thirteen inches, ash, with a dragon heartstring.”

Sirius took the wand. It felt heavy and _wrong_ in his hand, but he held it up anyway. He glanced at Ollivander for further instruction.

“Try levitating the tulips,” Ollivander said. “Non-verbally, of course. Can’t have the Ministry thinking I allowed you to utter real spells in my shop.”

Sirius nodded and, concentrating, flicked the wand at the flower pot. A bolt of red light shot out and shattered the vase. “Don’t think this is the one,” he said to Ollivander handing the wand back. Then, he flicked his wrist, and the vase knit itself back together.

“Right, then,” Ollivander said. “Try this. Willow, this time.”

It went on like this for nearly an hour. Ollivander would hand Sirius a wand—varying the length and the wood type, but never the core—and each time, Sirius would try to levitate the tulip vase, it would either explode, shatter, or, with one particular wand (ebony, like his mother’s), disintegrate entirely. Each time, Sirius would sigh and hand the wand back, then use his wandless magic to repair the vase.

Ollivander, naturally, became increasingly flustered as each progressive wand failed. He seemed to know what disappointing a Black could do to one’s physical safety, let alone their reputation.

Walburga’s frown deepened and her foot began to tap impatiently. “How much longer, Mr. Ollivander? I would like to take my son home before the start of the term.”

“O-of course, Mrs. Black. Of course,” Ollivander stammered. Then, he gestured at Sirius. “If I could just—” Ollivander suddenly stopped talking, as if reconsidering what he’d been about to ask.

“If you could what?” Walburga snapped. “Out with it, Mr. Ollivander.”

Ollivander hesitated. “Sometimes, in rather difficult cases…” he started, then trailed off. “If I could just take his hand, I might be able to discern which type of wand best suits him. With your permission, of course.”

Sirius frowned. Thus far, taking the cues from his mother, Sirius had avoided any physical contact with Ollivander, for fear of the pain. He shook his head. “No,” he said firmly, before his mother could speak. “Absolutely not.”

A half-second later, Walburga said. “Fine. Do it.”

“No!” Sirius snapped.

“He’s a half-breed, not a Mudblood, Sirius,” Walburga said, hellfire blazing in her eyes, clearly not pleased that her son and hair had talked back to her in public. “Do it so we can go home. I’m sure you’ll be wanting to give Regulus your little trinket.”

Sirius froze. Ah, so this was punishment, then. She knew he’d snuck away while she was conducting her business at Gringotts. _Bloody, backstabbing goblin_ , Sirius thought, viciously. Vaguely, he wondered if Walburga knew he’d met up again with James Potter. Deciding it best to not push his luck, Sirius extended his hand to Ollivander, with a muttered, “Yes, Mother.”

With an apologetic glint in his eye, Ollivander took Sirius’s hand.

Pain shot up his arm, fire in his blood, and Sirius fought every instinct to yank his hand back. Instead, he grit his teeth together, to keep from crying out, as Ollivander turned his hand over, examining the lines on his palm and the movements of his wrist.

After nearly two minutes, Ollivander released him. Sirius sprang back, knocking into a shelf and clutching his arm to his chest. He let out a whimper, barely suppressed a sob, and let out a long breath, as the pain slowly evaporated back to nothing. He hated showing weakness in front of his mother—in front of a stranger—but it _fucking_ hurt and there was not much he could do about it.

“Well, then,” Ollivander said, looking guiltily between Sirius and his mother. “I think I have just the thing.”

Ollivander scampered off to the back room. Sirius could hear shuffling, then a crash, then a curse, then some more shuffling. Walburga continued to tap her foot impatiently. Finally, Ollivander reappeared, holding a single, straight wand. He held it out to Sirius.

“I’ve been working on this one,” he said. “Bit of a special project, really. Try it out, then, Master Sirius.”

Sirius glanced suspiciously at the wand, but took it all the same. He spun it around in his grip, tested its weight and strength. This wand felt different—felt _good_ —like maybe it’d been made specifically for him.

“Go on, then,” Ollivander said, with a knowing smile. He gestured at the tulip vase.

Sirius flicked the wand at the vase and, instantly, the flowers sprang into midair and hovered there. Sirius whooped in triumph. “Think you’ve done it!” he exclaimed, throwing a broad smile at Ollivander. Sirius flicked his wrist again, and the vase did a flip, dumping the flowers and water out at the top of the loop and catching them once more at the bottom.

Ollivander clapped his hands together. “Ah, perfect fit, then?”

“Perfect,” Sirius agreed. “I’ll take it.”

Walburga crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the wand in Sirius’s hand. “What’s it made out of, then?” she demanded.

Ollivander hesitated. “Willow,” he said.

“You tried a dozen willow wands before. How come this one works?” Walburga snapped.

“Well, you see,” Ollivander said, looking reverently at Sirius’s wand, “this wand is from a _special_ willow tree. A young tree, enchanted at that, just planted at Hogwarts. Willow wands are excellent with non-verbal spells—probably the best, mind you—and are suited for those with the greatest potential. _This_ willow tree, more specifically, was enchanted to protect and defend, a resolute guardian of a closely-held secret. It has a special quality to it that no other wood possesses; that is, the weirder of this wand is destined to fight fiercely for the secrets he holds, for the protection of the ones he loves.”

Sirius’s eyes widened. That a wand like that had chosen the likes of _him_ … Sirius couldn’t fathom it. That sounded almost like he was _brave_ or something, and Sirius Black knew in his heart of hearts that he was very much not brave. He’d learned to fear a great many things.

Walburga’s brow furrowed and her frown deepened. “What’s the core, then, of this _special_ wand?”

“Ah,” Ollivander said, clearly stalling. “I’ve had a rough go of it, trying to find a core that would compliment such a unique wood. Phoenix feather, of course, would not do. Too unpredictable, that. I’m not entirely satisfied with the end result of _this_ core—it fits, sure, but I’m not entirely certain it’s complementary to the special qualities of this willow wood—but Master Sirius seems to be suited just fine for this wand, so there you have it.”

“Out with it, Ollivander,” Walburga growled, but Sirius already knew what the wand master was going to say. There was only one thing it could be, if Ollivander feared Walburga Black’s reaction.

“Unicorn hair,” Ollivander said quietly. “Enchanted willow wood, with a unicorn hair core, twelve inches long, exactly.”

“ _Excuse me?!”_ Walburga growled.

Sirius looked down at his wand in awe. No one in his family had ever had a unicorn hair core.

“The most faithful of all the wand cores,” Ollivander continued, the hesitation and fear in his voice evident. “But, ah, yes. Unicorn hair does tend to wither away into nothing if it’s forced to perform Dark Magic.”

Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat. He refused to look at his mother, terrified of her rage at this new development.

“But, ah, the bright side,” Ollivander said, holding up a finger. “The first spell uttered with a unicorn hair core will, of course, determine the—ah—the character of the wand itself, as well as that of its wielder.” He threw a half-joking wink at Sirius. “Best wait until Hogwarts before you attempt any verbal spells, I reckon.”

“Right. That’s enough,” Walburga snapped. “How much, then? We must be going. No use in staying here all night trying to find a better match.”

Ollivander gave Walburga a significantly discounted price, from what Sirius understood was the average cost of specialty wands. Sirius highly doubted Ollivander would give such an offer to anyone other than a highly displeased Walburga Black, but the alternative seemed to be incurring her wrath, which, from experience, Sirius knew to be a far worse fate.

Walburga didn’t speak to him the whole way home, but Sirius couldn’t be bothered to care. He finally had a wand. A wand that had chosen him, specifically, and one laced with contradictions, down to its very making, much like Sirius Black himself.

 

                                                                                                    

 

Apparating right outside the Muggle-repelling wards that surround Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Sirius immediately sensed something was… _off_. His mother, calm and collected as ever, shoved Sirius away from her side and opened the front door. House-elf skulls and ancient family members in ornate portraits adorned the entrance hall.

“Orion and Kreacher shall be around shortly,” Walburga said. “We shall discuss your punishment for disobeying my direct order and consorting with that _Potter_ boy then.”

Sirius bowed his head and winced, almost anticipating the punishment. Whatever his parents cooked up, it was bound to leave him aching for days. “Yes, Mother,” he said, before slinking off.

Temporarily off the hook, Sirius wove his way through the halls, twirling his new wand between his fingers. “Regulus?” he called. “Reg, where’re you at?”

He paused, waiting for the reply. The house remained silent. Then, he heard the front door open once more, and the booming voice of his father carry throughout the halls as Orion asked Walburga how their trip to Ollivander’s had gone. His parents’ voices defended into hushed, angry whispers as Sirius turned another corner. Still no sign of his brother.

Sirius frowned. “Regulus?” he called again.

Still no reply.

Sirius turned on his heel, heading back towards their study, where he’d left Regulus with Auclair earlier. “Regulus?” he said, hesitantly, as he pushed open the door.

Sirius registered the muffled cry before his brain fully wrapped himself around the sight. Auclair, still with that brilliantly pink streak in his hair, had Regulus pinned against the opposite wall, both hands clasped around his throat. Regulus’s feet skimmed the ground—he wasn’t tall enough to touch—and Auclair supported Regulus’s entire weight by the hands around his throat. Sirius gaped in horror, dazed for a second, as he watched Regulus’s lips turn blue.

“You’re a _filthy_ , entitled little _bastard_ , you are,” Auclair hissed, his face contorted in fury.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Sirius shouted, pointing his wand at Auclair. “Let him go!”

Auclair whirled his head around, but did not release Regulus. Regulus clawed at the tutor’s hands and mouthed Sirius’s name, over and over, his eyes wild with panic.

“LET HIM GO! LET HIM GO! LET HIM _GO_!” Sirius roared.

“He’ll get what he deserves, right bastard,” Auclair growled. “Only need one heir, after all.”

Before Sirius even had time to properly think about it, he raised his and shouted, “ _CRUCIO!”_

A bolt of green light shot out from his brand new, enchanted-willow-with-unicorn-hair-core wand. Auclair went rigid for a split second, the fell to the ground, wailing out in pain. He contorted on the ground, trying to wiggle out of the curse, but to no avail. Sirius held him there, writhing in unspeakable pain.

Regulus dropped to the ground, clutching his throat and coughing.

“SIRIUS!” yelled his mother, from somewhere behind him.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw his father come to stand next to him. Orion drew his wand and pointed it at Auclair. “Release him, Sirius,” Orion said, remarkably calm, given the situation.

After three more seconds, Sirius obeyed and lowered his wand. Auclair let out a long, drawn out moan of relief. Sirius glanced at his father, suddenly terrified of incurring punishment for torturing their tutor. “He—” Sirius started, pointing an accusing finger at Auclair. “He was… And Regulus—”

Sirius cut off, when suddenly, Regulus ran across the room and threw his arms around Sirius’s neck, sobbing. Ignoring both their parents, Sirius held his brother tight against him, carding fingers through Regulus’s thick, black hair, trying to soothe him. Eventually, he forced Regulus to step back, so Sirius could get a good look at his neck. Dark purple bruises were already forming on Regulus’s skin, in the perfect shape of Auclair’s hands. Sirius growled in anger and gently pulled Regulus back against his chest. Only then, does Sirius dare to look up at his father.

Orion’s expression had hardened. “Auclair, what happened?”

From his place on the floor, Auclair let out a broken, bitter laugh. “Little bastard—” he coughed, loudly, and Sirius was sure he saw blood come up. “Fucking _bastard_ said my family were nothing but blood traitors, the whores of Europe, that—”

“ _Crucio!”_ Orion yelled, flicking his wand. Auclair collapsed again, letting loose another wail of pain. “You will not speak of my _son_ in that manner, Auclair,” he spat. Orion turned back to Sirius and Regulus. “In your own words, Regulus. What happened?”

Regulus kept his face buried in Sirius’s chest, but risked a glance up at their father. “What he said,” Regulus muttered. “Then he grabbed me by the throat and started choking me.”

Orion nodded, then turned his focus back to the writhing tutor. “You were given the terms of discipline upon your employment, Auclair. No one of lesser blood was to lay hands on either of my sons. If you had problems, you were to take it up with Walburga, who would then handle their punishment. Only a Black is fit to punish a Black.”

Auclair had now been reduced to mere moans and whimpers, as Orion continued to hold the curse.

Then, catching Sirius’s eye once more, Orion said, “I’m proud of you, Sirius. Cruciatus as your first curse. Not many can claim that honor, even amongst the Blacks. Perhaps that new wand of yours is not as useless as your mother seems to think.”

 _I’m proud of you, Sirius_.

In his nearly eleven years of life, Sirius Black had never heard his father utter those words. He managed a small nod, in response, not quite knowing what to say.

“Since it was you that cast the first curse, I find it only fair for you to deliver the final punishment, Sirius,” Orion continued. He nodded to Sirius’s new wand. “Finish it.”

Sirius was well aware that that was supposed to mean something, but his brain seemed to be having immense difficulty in computing his father’s words. “F-finish it?” he asked, rather stupidly.

“Avada Kedavra, Sirius,” Walburga said, impatiently. “He deserves to die, for what he’s done. Now, on with it!”

Sirius’s jaw dropped and he clutched Regulus closer to him. “No,” he choked out. “I’m not going to kill him.”

His mother’s eyes flashed. “You _dare_ disobey me again, after what you pulled in—”

Orion raised a hand. “Enough, Walburga,” he said. He turned to Sirius and gave him a long, hard glare. “I’ll do it this time, Sirius, but just this once and only because you had the gall to perform the first curse. Next time, if you refuse to finish it, you’ll take his place.”

Sirius felt his blood turn to ice at the threat. Regulus let out a sob.

The Blacks all turned their attention to their sniveling tutor, still huddled on his knees. “No! Please, Master—”

He never got to finish.

“ _Avada Kedavra!”_ A green bolt shot from Orion’s wand and Alphonse Auclair dropped dead.

Sirius stared down at those empty eyes and felt cold sneaking up his spine. Auclair didn’t _look_ dead, at least nothing like his grandmother had, lying pale and lifeless in her coffin. Auclair looked as though he were merely staring off into space, ready to be roused by him or Regulus, in time for their next lesson and bout of bickering.

Orion tucked his wand back into his robes, as if it were nothing at all that he’d just killed a man in front of his two, young sons. Turning to his wife, he said, “Have Kreacher clean this up. Sirius, we’ll discuss your punishment for your actions in Diagon Alley tomorrow.”

Sirius found himself nodding along.

“Good,” Orion huffed. “Now, off with you. No use standing around gaping, staring at a dead blood traitor. I’ll be in my study.”

 

                                                                                                    

 

Sirius didn’t go down to dinner that night. Though, he doubted if he did show up, that he’d actually be given anything to eat. He was well aware that whatever pride his parents had felt at him performing the Cruciatus curse was short-lived, especially given his afternoon spent with James Potter and the fact that Sirius apparently didn’t have the backbone to perform the killing curse.

He lay flat on his back, on his four poster bed, the dark green duvet tucked right up to his chin. He’s not entirely certain how long he’s been laying there, staring straight up at the ceiling, but he’d guess a few hours, at least.

He’d performed the Cruciatus curse, willingly and without hesitation. Andromeda had told him a few years ago that, in order to perform any one of the Unforgivable Curses, you had to mean it, had to feel the rage welling up in your very soul.

Sirius had felt it, alright. He’d meant it and, to what he thinks should be his great dismay, he’s unwaveringly certain that he’d do it again.

Sirius Black was eleven years old and, were it not for the wards on Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, the Ministry of Magic would throw him in Azkaban for the rest of his life.

Maybe he deserved it.

Maybe he’d been fated for Azkaban from the moment he’d been born.

Eventually, after what was probably another hour or so, Sirius pulled out his wand. It felt heavier than it had in Ollivander’s and the smooth, willow wood appeared half a shade darker. Maybe it was his imagination, but he doubted it. His wand had a unicorn hair core. Ollivander had said the core would wither into nothing if it were forced to perform Dark Magic, and that the first spell would determine the wand’s fate.

It seemed, then, no matter what he chose, Sirius Black was fated for darkness. He’d wither into nothing, just like his wand.

Sirius sat up when he heard his door creak open. Soft feet padded across the wood floor, until there was a rustle of covers and Sirius felt Regulus wiggle close to him on the bed. Regulus lay on his side, facing his older brother, black eyes wide, even in the darkness.

“Siri?” Regulus whispered.

“Yeah, Reg?”

“Thank you.”

Sirius turned on his own side, facing Regulus. They were pressed close together, their feet tangling and fingers brushing underneath the duvet. Sirius reached up, his fingers skimming the dark bruises on Regulus’s neck.

“I can heal that for you,” Sirius said, suddenly. Regulus’s eyes went wide. “I know a spell. Or, well, I read about one. Can’t really fix that sort of thing without a wand, but I could give it a go. Do you trust me?”

Regulus nodded and bared his neck.

Sirius wasn’t entirely certain he trusted himself, especially with his recently-cursed wand now pointed at his little brother’s throat. He drew in a sharp breath, sent a prayer to whoever or whatever might be listening, and muttered, “ _Episkey._ ”

Sirius watched in relative amazement as the bruises faded into pale, smooth, untarnished skin.

Regulus’s hand flew to his neck and he poked the skin, his face breaking out in a grin once he realized it no longer hurt. “Thanks,” he said, earnestly. He gestured to Sirius’s hand. “That your new wand? Can I see it?”

Sirius hesitated only a second before handing his wand off to his brother.

“Wow,” Regulus said, running a finger across the smooth, straight wood. “What’s it made of?”

“Enchanted willow wood,” Sirius said, with a burst of pride that frankly surprised him. “Ollivander said it’s from an special tree, at Hogwarts. He said it guarded a secret.”

Regulus’s eyes went wide. “What kind of secret?”

Sirius huffed a laugh and poked Regulus in the side. His little brother let out an indignant squeak. “If he told me what it was, it wouldn’t be a secret, now would it?”

Regulus giggled.

“I’ll try to find out, yeah?” Sirius said. “Once I’m at Hogwarts. Kind of want to know myself, after what Ollivander said. He seemed to think this wand was real special.” Sirius again thought about the dying unicorn hair core of his wand and felt an unbelievable twinge of guilt.

Regulus, of course, didn’t know that the wand was slowly dying. “You’ll write me and tell me the secret, once you find out, right?” he asked.

“‘Course I will,” Sirius said, with a huff.

Regulus grinned and handed the wand back to Sirius. “Do you think I’ll get a special wand next year, too?”

“I don’t doubt it.” Sirius poked him again, this time tickling him a bit more. Regulus giggled relentlessly and retaliated.

After they’d both regained their breath (and Sirius had taken a good kick to a most undesirable location), the brothers lay on their backs, shoulder to shoulder, and stared up at the ceiling.

“Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you get me anything?”

“Merlin, I almost forgot.” Sirius sat back up, a wicked grin on his face. He pointed his wand towards his dresser and said, “ _Accio Cosmos.”_

The little tea-cup fluttered over to them. Regulus snatched it out of the air, running his fingers over the intricate patterns. “What is it?”

“Cosmos-in-a-Cup,” Sirius said, with a smirk. Tossing his wand aside, Sirius flicked his wrist and the tea cup filled with water. The two brothers stared into the cup, millions of millions of stars swirling in the tiny space. “Splash the water on the ceiling or something, to see all the stars.”

“Really?” Regulus asked, his eyes wide, reflecting the tiny stars twinkling in the cup.

“Try it.”

Without another word, Regulus held the teacup up and splashed the water towards the ceiling. Instead of liquid, the splash rained down stars around them, engulfing them, swirling everywhere, unto infinity. The Milky Way streaked across the ceiling of Sirius’s bedroom, all purple and blue and astoundingly white light.

“’S beautiful, Siri,” Regulus whispered, and yeah, it was. Regulus nudged Sirius. “So where are we at, then?”

Sirius smiled, studying the cosmos above him. “There’s Orion’s belt,” he said, pointing, and neither of them bothered to hide a grimace. “Which means… Ah, _there_. Right south of Orion, that’s Sirius. The heart of Canis Major and the brightest star in the night sky.”

Regulus reached up, tracing the outline of Canis Major with his finger. “Good dog,” he giggled.

Sirius poked him. “Fucking sap, you are,” he muttered. He pointed back at the swirling stars. “Regulus is there, brightest one in the Leo constellation.”

“Leo?” Regulus said. “The lion?”

“Yep,” Sirius replied. “Probably means you’ll be in Gryffindor.”

Regulus grabbed the pillow under his head and swatted Sirius. “No! Take it back!”

Sirius laughed and shoved him away. “Nah, you’ll be Slytherin, like the rest of us,” he said, after a moment. “Besides, it’d be a shame if all those Slytherin scarves Mother got went to waste.”

“Suppose so,” Regulus said. He looked back at the Cosmos-in-a-Cup, still clutched reverently between his fingers, even as the galaxy swirled above them. “Sirius?” he asked. Sirius hummed in response. Regulus gestured to the tea cup. “Is this why you’re in trouble?”

Sirius let out a sigh. “Nah,” he said. Then, he reconsidered. “Well, not specifically.”

“Specifically,” Regulus said, slowly, “what did you do?”

“I snuck away from Mother while she was at Gringotts, went to a joke shop, exchanged friendly banter with the infamous son-of-blood-traitors, James Potter, blew all the feathers off a rather annoying psychic pigeon, bought you a cup of stars, then paid a traitorous goblin twenty Galleons to shut up about all of it. He then betrayed me to Walburga Black, and here we are.”

Regulus seemed to run that all through his head again. “You’re friends with James Potter?”

Sirius shrugged. “S’pose so. What of it?”

“Mother and Father won’t like it.”

“Didn’t think they would.”

“Then why bother?”

“He’s funny,” Sirius said, considering it. “His hair sticks up in every direction and he likes Quidditch. He wants me to teach him wandless magic.”

Regulus nodded. “Doesn’t it…” he trailed off, reconsidering his question. “Doesn’t it _hurt_?”

“Yeah,” Sirius replied, letting out a sigh. He thought of the three separate times James shook his hand, of James throwing his arm over Sirius’s shoulder, of the casual touches, of the easy, friendly intimacy James Potter constantly initiated. Sirius shuddered, as the memory of the pain nearly overwhelmed him. “Course it does,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But I figure if we’re going to be friends, I’ll just have to avoid touching him, is all.”

Sirius, of course, had no idea how he was going to deter James Potter, but it felt good to say, at least.

“Was it like ‘Dromeda’s boyfriend?”

“Nah,” Sirius replied. “It still hurt. _Merlin_ , it hurt, but not like Ted. James is still a pure-blood, even if he’s from a family of blood traitors.”

Regulus hummed in response. “Lot of those today. Blood traitors.”

Sirius felt that darkness creeping back up his spine. Despite the cosmos above him, despite the comfort of his brother next to him, Sirius felt the weight on his chest, overwhelming and all-consuming. He was sure he was about to drown, lost in the darkness forever.

“Orion-fucking-Black said he was proud of me,” Sirius said, rather surprising himself. He didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t want Regulus to see any more of the darkness and the nothing than necessary. If Regulus knew... Merlin, if Regulus knew what that Unforgivable Curse might have cost Sirius, he’d go running for the hills, leaving Sirius alone, once and for all, with a suddenly empty cosmos shining above his head.

“You don’t sound happy about it,” Regulus muttered, reaching for Sirius’s hand. Sirius wove their fingers together and held on tight.

“I’m not,” he said, his voice harsher than he meant. “Not even a little bit.”

Regulus gave him a strange look. “Why not?”

Sirius scoffed at his brother’s indignant tone. “Because to get Father to say that again, I’d have to do _that_ again, and probably worse. And… And I don’t think I can.”

In fact, Sirius Black is quite certain that he’d rather die, in any one of the myriad of painful wayshis parents might devise.

Regulus frowned and squeezed his hand. “But… Siri, you saved me. You’d do that again, wouldn’t you?”

Sirius swatted him. “Of course, but… Reg, did you really say all that to him? Call him a blood traitor and all?”

“Only after you did!” Regulus protested.

Sirius closed his eyes, swallowing his regret. “I know,” he muttered. “I know, okay?”

“Then what—”

“I tortured him to make up for my own loud mouth, which, in essence, means I tortured him because he was a blood traitor.”

Regulus was genuinely confused. “So?”

Sirius opened his eyes and stared at his brother. Regulus’s black eyes—so unlike his own—reflected the galaxy above them, around them, inside them. They were beautiful, his brother’s eyes, and so undeserving of the darkness that surrounded them.

“He didn’t get to choose his family, Reg. He couldn’t help what he was,” Sirius said, his voice quiet. “Neither can we.”

“He chose to attack me, Sirius.”

Sirius shook his head. “He’s a pure-blood wizard, called inferior and a blood traitor his whole life—whether it’s true or not—because his lineage will never measure up against the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.” Sirius couldn’t keep the sarcastic edge out of his voice at the mention of his own bloodline. “Years later, some snot-nosed punk—or rather, a snot-nosed punk and his dashing big brother—remind him of what he is, of the type of blood runs through his veins, so he snaps. He attacks said snot-nosed punk, forcing his dashing big brother to step up and throw down the Cruciatus curse. This pure-blood wizard falls dead a blood traitor, because he stood against the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, thereby fulfilling every taunt and jeer that’s been thrown at him over the years. He never had a choice, Reg. He was born to become a blood traitor. He was born to die as one.”

They’re silent a long moment, the stars blazing bright and beautiful just out of reach.

Finally, Regulus said, “If that’s true, then what are we born to be?”

Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat. He’d give anything not to be the one to share this particular tragedy with his younger brother.

“There’s darkness in our veins,” Sirius said, eventually, gazing into the infinite mysteries of the cosmos spread out above them. “This God, this hand of fate, or whatever it is—the very monster that wrote the destinies of pure-bloods and blood traitors, who wrote the darkness into our very souls… That’s something I can never forgive. You and me, Regulus? Well, we were born to kill God.”

Regulus looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. He curled up next to Sirius, his head on Sirius’s chest, right below the tattoo that caused so much pain. Regulus clutched the Cosmos-in-a-Cup carefully between them. “Thanks for the stars, Siri.”

Sirius carded his fingers through his brother’s hair and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “You’re welcome, Reg.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Lionheart

 

_Dear Andromeda,_

 

_How’s Ted?_

_Reg and I got a new tutor, Mrs. Blanche Withers, and she’s forcing us to keep up correspondence with our relatives, even though I’m off to Hogwarts (finally!) early next week. And, seeing as you’re the only relative I can stand (other than Reg, of course), it’s your lucky day. Let me dazzle you with my masterful prose and incendiary wit. (Incendiary—that’s the right word, right? I think it is.)_

_How are Bella and Cissa?_

_(Ignore that. I don’t really care. Mrs. Blanche Withers just made me write it because it’s polite or some bullshit like that.)_

_How’s the Ministry, these days? (Please do answer that one. I want to know.) What have they got you doing? Are you still in Public Relations?_

_Like I said, I’m off to Hogwarts next week. I’ve got my wand and my books and loads of Slytherin scarves and ties Mother insisted upon buying when were in Diagon Alley. I’m excited, truly, and not just because I’ll finally be away from this house for a good portion of the year. Well, who am I kidding? It’s mostly that._

_I do have a question—(Sorry if the writing gets small or smeared. I’m trying to hide this bit from Mrs. Blanche Withers. She’s quite a snoop, that one.)—at Hogwarts… How did you manage it with, well, the Black family brand, and all? One day in Diagon Alley almost did me in, and, if Mother’s ramblings about the complete lack of blood purity at Hogwarts, then I imagine it’s quite a task navigating the halls. Then, say, hypothetically—very,_ very _hypothetically, mind you—I were to hypothetically befriend someone of a rather less-than-pure lineage—a blood traitor, for instance—how might I hypothetically embark on such a friendship, when I, as I am, can hardly stand to touch said hypothetical friend?_

_Anyway, I hope you’re well and I hope this letter reaches you and doesn’t get thrown into the fire. Regulus tried to write Uncle Alphard and ask him how long he thought it would take before the Ministry to arrest Rodolphus Lestrange and throw him in Azkaban for using Dark Magic. Apparently, since Bella’s engagement was announced, Alphard’s been taking bets. Mrs. Blanche Withers, ever the spoil-sport, tore Reg’s letter to shreds and ordered him to go help Kreacher with the dishes. Frightful woman, that Mrs. Blanche Withers, and that’s coming from someone raised by Walburga Black._

 

_Love,_

_Sirius_

 

 

_Dear Sirius,_

 

_I’m so glad to hear from you!_

_In reference to your first question, I must now implore you to speak in a rather coded manner, as my nightmare of a younger sister has taken to reading my letters when I am not present to receive them. Henceforth, the subject of your question shall be referred to only as my new, adorable owl, Feathers. In answer to your question, Feathers is doing perfectly fine. He’s enjoying his new employment at an apothecary shop in Hogsmeade—such a smart owl, that Feathers! We are also madly in love and I shall never love another owl as much as Feathers, no matter the arrangements my parents make._

_I am doing well. Yes, I’m still in Public Relations, slowly working my way up, though it’s a bit tedious. Feathers thinks my talents are being wasted and I should begin Auror training. Imagine that, huh? A Black, as an Auror! Mother and Father would have a fit. Perhaps I’ll do it, then, eh?_

_I’m so sorry to hear ofthe passing of your old tutor—Auclair, was it? I know you weren’t particularly fond of him either, but this Mrs. Blanche Withers sounds like a real nightmare. Poor Reg. He’ll have to learn to tolerate her while you’re off at Hogwarts. You better write your poor, dear brother often, Sirius Black, or I shall never invite you out for ice-cream with me and Feathers again._

_You should be excited for Hogwarts, Sirius! I’m excited for you. There’s so much more to the wizarding world than even the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black can ever prepare you for. I expect you’ll love Charms, given how you seemed to have mastered that whole wandless magic thing. Everything at Hogwarts is utterly brilliant, Sirius. Be sure to stop by the gamekeeper’s hut and tell Hagrid I said hello. Hagrid was a good friend of Feathers’s and actually had quite a hand in putting us in contact. You should have him tell you the story._

_I do feel it’s fair to warn you—Not because you asked. I did ignore that question, as instructed.—that Narcissa will be starting her sixth year. Mother’s told her that she’s to look out for you, seeing as how you’re the Black heir and all. Narcissa wasn’t too keen, but she’ll listen, for as long as she knows she’s being watched. Wily little snake, that one, but the perfect little Slytherin. She’s dating a fifth year, Lucius Malfoy. Mother and Father have entered into marriage negotiations with the Malfoys, for after Narcissa graduates Hogwarts. It would seem that they’re to be a rather permanent fixture, Lucius and Narcissa, though I dare say he’s a bit of a monster. You’d think the Blacks were horrid purists, Sirius, but you’ve never seen the likes of fanatical blood-allegiance until you’ve met with Lucius Malfoy. I say this only in warning: He’s made prefect, it would seem. Cissa’s been bragging about it all month. You won’t get away with much, with Malfoy looming over you, but you’re still the Black heir, so he’s got to respect that, at least a little._

_As for the Black family brand, yes. That does take some getting used to. It’s a lot of dodging people in the hallways and learning to slip past other students without brushing against them. You’ll figure it out. Every Black that’s attended Hogwarts has so far. It might mean some random bouts of excruciating pain, but you’re brave, Sirius. You’ll figure it out. For making friends, everyone in the Slytherin house is relatively safe. A few half-bloods get in every year, but you’ll learn who they are just by how they’re ostracized. Everyone else in the house should be safe and shouldn’t cause you any pain._

_That being said, I want you to know that I couldn’t care less who you choose to be friends with, hypothetical blood-traitor or no. Just look at me and Feathers, for Merlin’s sake! If this hypothetical friend of yours really wants to be your hypothetical friend, then just tell him about the tattoo. If he’s a good hypothetical friend, then he’ll respect your boundaries without question, even if he does, hypothetically, seem to be particularly inclined towards physical affection. It took me forever to tell Feathers and it caused a lot of heartache. I don’t particularly care to watch you go through the same thing._

_On a completely unrelated side note, please tell James Potter he owes me ten Galleons. He’ll know what it’s in reference to. I met him when I was with Feathers in Diagon Alley last week (Feathers is a huge fan of Mr. Potter’s Sleekeazy Hair Potion and now sells it in his shop) and James mentioned that he’d met you. We then entered into a little wager and it would seem that I’ve won._

_Speaking of bets, please also tell Uncle Alphard to put me down for seven years, before Rodolphus is in Azkaban, and eight for Bella. The two of them are squirrelly, feisty little cretins. It’s bound to take the Ministry at least that long to actually pin a crime on them, much to my great annoyance. I do hope they allow me to testify against them at their trial._

 

_Love,_

_Andromeda_

 

_P.S. - I didn’t tell James about your tattoo. That is your secret to tell, Sirius, if James is to, hypothetically, be your friend._

 

**SEPTEMBER 1, 1971**

 

Much to his dismay, Sirius found himself shrinking against his mother’s side, as they stood in the middle of platform nine and three quarters. She gave him a nudge and a scowl, then a glare that so clearly said, _Act like the Black heir, you ungrateful ingrate._

Sirius straightened up and put a few feet between himself and his mother. He was coming to the rather rapid realization that he did not care, at all, for crowds. There were too many people, too many trollies full of luggage taking up too much space on the platform. The young wizards and their parents resolutely avoided bumping into the imposing and sophisticated figures of Orion and Walburga Black, which, in essence, meant that they inevitably ran into Sirius. Try as he might, he kept brushing up against people, then jerking away at the burn, only to bump into someone else and send yet another lightening bolt of pain up his spine.

Sirius was already injured, for Merlin’s sake. There were purple bruises up and down his sides. Last week, already anxious to get out of Grimmauld Place, Sirius had _accidentally_ set Kreacher’s potato-sack smock on fire. Sirius had actually been attempting to light a lamp with his wand, but the damned thing had backfired and hit Kreacher with the fire spell instead. His mother, naturally, had not believed him in the slightest. She’d ordered Kreacher to punish Sirius as if he were punishing himself for disobedience. Kreacher had taken great pleasure in that privilege, so much so that Sirius was fairly certain the stupid house-elf had cracked one of his ribs. A muttered healing spell fixed the break a day later, after he’d regained consciousness, but he didn’t dare fixing the bruises, lest his mother or Kreacher think it necessary to renew them.

Someone bumped against him once more—this one Muggle-born, judging by the ferocity of the pain—and Sirius barely held back a scream.

Andromeda was wrong. She had to be. There was no way that Sirius could get used to this.

Part of him—that dark part that he’d spent the better part of the month desperately trying not to even acknowledge—wanted to curse these people for just touching him, and for the pain it caused him. Who were they to—

But he couldn’t think like that. Couldn’t think like his parents.

Still, Sirius felt the weight of his wand in the pocket of his robes, tucked against Andromeda’s letter. He was itching to do something—anything, for Merlin’s sake—just to take his mind off the near constant pain of constantly being shoved around in this crowd.

He gritted his teeth together, heaved a few breaths, then opened his eyes once more, only to see none other than James Potter strolling onto the platform. James wore a long, Gryffindor scarf and his hair was no more tamed than it had been that day in Diagon Alley. He was followed by his father and a beautiful, elegant older woman that Sirius assumed was James’s mother. When James looked up and caught Sirius’s eye, he gave Sirius a wide smile and a small wave. Glancing nervously back at his parents to ensure they hadn’t noticed the Potters—they hadn’t, thank Merlin—Sirius looked back at James, gave a slight shake of his head, then nodded towards the arriving train. Sirius prayed James got the message. _Not now. We’ll talk on the train_.

James gave him a small smile and nodded. He walked away, in the other direction, followed by his parents.

Sirius let out a breath in relief and surveyed the platform. There was a tall boy—probably a first year, given his lack of any discernible house memorabilia—with curly, sandy-brown hair and amber eyes, standing next to a man who was undoubtedly his father. The boy looked between the train and his father, then all but flung his arms around his father’s neck, yanking him into a tight hug.

Sirius winced, unable to keep from imagining receiving a hug from his own father. It was a terrifying thought, really, and one, Sirius had no doubt, that would be accompanied by a certain degree of pain, even if it weren’t from his damned tattoo.

When the boy pulled away, the light on the platform caught just right on his face that Sirius was able to make out three pale scars that sliced parallel to each other across his face. Sirius gasped and was unable to hide the sound. His own parents, he understood well. If Sirius or Regulus stepped out of line, there was bound to be punishment. Whether that punishment was physical, in the form of Cruciatus or some equally painful curse entirely depended on the day.

What Sirius couldn’t understand, however, was the sight before him. How could a father, with a son that so willingly hugged him like _that,_ punish the boy in such a manner that would warrant such obvious scars?

More importantly, what, in Merlin’s name, had that boy done to deserve such a severe and _visible_ punishment?

“Sirius. _Sirius!”_

Sirius was suddenly very aware that his mother had been calling his name for the past thirty seconds. He turned, looking as innocent as possible, and said, “Yes, Mother?”

Walburga’s lips formed a thin line and she scowled down at her son. “You’re cousin is here.”

Sirius looked around to see Narcissa Black stalking up to them, trailed by her mother, Aunt Druella. Much to his chagrin, Narcissa stood a great deal taller than Sirius. Her long, blonde hair—a trait she shared only with her mother—fanned out behind her and her sharp, blue eyes glared down at Sirius.

Sirius was fairly certain that he’d give his left arm for Andromeda to be here, greeting him, instead of her beast of a younger sister.

“Walburga, Orion,” Aunt Druella said, greeting both his parents with kisses on the cheek. She looked Sirius up and down, a small, malicious smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “With the way things are going, it’s about time for the Black heir to be counted amongst the Slytherins, don’t you think?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. _The way things were going? What does that—_

“Indeed,” Orion said. “Sirius will do us all proud, I’m sure.”

Sirius could hear the threat behind his father’s words. “Of course,” he said, meeting Aunt Druella’s stare dead on.

“Glad to hear it,” Aunt Druella said. She gestured towards her daughter. “Now, Narcissa will look out for you, Sirius, make sure you get settled all right. If you need anything, if any half-breed or Mudblood tries to give you trouble, let Narcissa know. Her boyfriend, Lucius Malfoy, is the Slytherin prefect. Oh, where’d that boy get off to? Lucius? Lucius!” she called.

A wiry boy with white-blonde hair turned and started towards them. He had what seemed to be a permanent sneer etched into his features. Sirius decided in an instant that he hated Lucius Malfoy.

“Yes, Mrs. Black,” Lucius Malfoy said, with an air of arrogance about him. He stuck out his hand to Sirius. “Pleasure to meet you, Sirius.”

“Same,” Sirius said, suppressing an eye-roll. There was no pain when he shook Malfoy’s hand. Malfoy was pure-blood, to his very core.

“You three should get on the train,” Aunt Druella said. “The house-elves will handle your trunks.”

“Yes, Mother,” Narcissa said, then kissed Aunt Druella’s cheek. She took Malfoy’s hand.

Walburga held out her arms to Sirius. Obediently, not seeing any other option, Sirius stepped closer to his mother and she kissed him on both cheeks. Unlike the exchange between the boy with the scars and his father, Walburga’s touch was cold, thin icing over a veiled threat. “You live up to your name and station, Sirius Black,” she hissed in his ear. “Do you understand me?”

Sirius gave a slight nod and stepped away.

The train gave one last, long whistle.

“Come, Sirius,” Narcissa said, her nose up in the air.

Begrudgingly, Sirius followed his cousin and her boyfriend onto the crowded train. The corridor of the train was frustratingly narrow and, though Malfoy led the way through the throngs of students, neither Sirius nor Narcissa could entirely avoid contact with these strangers. Sirius found himself flinching every few seconds, which greatly cut into his concentration on how he was going to hex Lucius Malfoy.

Narcissa and Malfoy stopped, about halfway down the train, when a greasy-haired boy with sallow skin stumbled and fell right in front of them. Sirius pulled up short, to avoid running smack into Malfoy’s back.

“Watch where you’re going, firstie!” sneered Narcissa.

“Merlin, there’s so much grease in that hair, it’s no wonder he fell,” Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose and giving the boy a sharp kick.

“Half-blood, that one,” Narcissa said with a hiss, as the greasy first year brushed against her. She stepped a good distance out of reach.

“Not fit for Slytherin, then, is he?” Malfoy taunted, giving the boy another kick.

Sirius disagreed. Half-blood or no, the slimy boy was exactly what he’d imagined a Slytherin would look like. Not particularly wanting to watch his cousin and her disgusting boyfriend torment another first year Sirius with whom could very well end sharing a dormitory, he took another step back, and occupied himself by looking intently at his cuticles, trying to appear as though he were not a part of the altercation in front of him.

A sharp pain shot up his spine as someone leaned close to him. Sirius almost flinched away, but then James Potter whispered in his ear, “What do you say we hex Malfoy while his back is turned?”

Sirius took half a step away from James, but grinned madly. “What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Potter?” Sirius asked, reaching for his magic and twirling his fingers.

“I think, perhaps, that it’s my turn to do the honors, Mr. Black,” James said. He reached into the pocket of his robes. “Besides. This time I have a wand.”

Sirius laughed and took a look at the wand. It was shorter than his own, maybe by an inch, but made of dark mahogany. The wand had intricate patterns and swirls etched into the handle. When he thought about it later, James’s wand was undoubtably beautiful, but Sirius greatly preferred the simplicity of his own enchanted willow wand.

Sirius gestured at Malfoy. “All yours, then. Just don’t hit my cousin, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

James bit his lip, pointed his wand, muttered a spell that Sirius didn’t quite catch, and then, suddenly, all of Lucius Malfoy’s clothes disappeared. Or, rather, turned invisible, it would seem, as there was still a rush of fabric as Malfoy sputtered and felt his chest, dazed and confused.

Narcissa screamed.

Sirius howled in laughter, nearly collapsing in on himself.

James, with a wicked smirk plastered on his face, gave Malfoy a long, lingering glance, up and down his body. “My, my, Malfoy. White all over, aren’t we?”

Malfoy’s eyes flashed, and he flushed red, right down to his—

“Why, Narcissa,” Sirius said, barely holding back another cackle. “Even with a horrid personalty like yours, I’d think you could do better than _that_.” He gestured at Malfoy’s junk. “How is a wormy thing like that s’posed to produce a child?”

James snorted a laugh and slapped Sirius on the shoulder. He winced, but mostly ignored it. “No, you see, Sirius,” James said, quite reasonably, “given that blood-curdling scream she let out upon seeing his naughty bits, I’m not sure she wants that limp noodle anywhere near her. Looks like Malfoy’s line will die with this pasty fellow we see before us.”

Sirius laughed and leered at Malfoy.

“Why, you—” Malfoy fumbled with his invisible robes, searching desperately for his pocket and his wand.

Narcissa, however, beat him to it. She pointed her wand at them, and yelled, “ _Stupefy!”_

James launched himself in front of Sirius, his wand raised, and deflected the curse. It backfired and hit the sniveling first year square in the chest. The boy’s greasy head plopped to the floor as he lost consciousness.

For a second, all four of them froze. “Oops,” muttered James.

Narcissa raised her wand again, but this time, Sirius was faster. He flicked his wrist, and the corridor beneath Malfoy and Narcissa turned to ice. When she stepped forward to cast the spell, her foot slipped and she fell backwards, on top of the greasy-haired first year.

Malfoy turned a deeper shade of red, clearly stuck between helping his now-sobbing girlfriend and cursing James and Sirius into oblivion.

Sirius wasn’t going to wait to find out. He turned, threw a wink at James, and said, “Run.”

Sirius and James took off in the opposite direction, tearing through the corridor, Malfoy hot on their heels. They kept shoving past loads of protesting students, and Sirius felt it every single time, but he was far more focused on escaping the wrath of Lucius Malfoy. He ignored the shouts and screams, the gasps of horror at the two first years pursued by a seemingly naked prefect.

When they were nearing the last car and desperately running out of places to hide, Sirius spun on his heel, then flicked his wrist once more. The corridor, again, was spontaneously covered in ice, this time lacing up the wall and sealing a few of the compartments shut. Three or four students fell flat on their faces, directly in Malfoy’s path. He tried to jump over them, but ended up coming down on one boy’s groin area, and was sent sprawling, as both Malfoy and the poor sod wailed in agony.

James grabbed the front of Sirius’s robe and yanked him into the very last compartment on the train, and slammed the door behind him.

Sirius shoved James off him, with a strangled gasp, the second they were inside the compartment.

“Think he saw where we went?” James asked, brushing off his robes.

“Don’t know,” Sirius replied, glancing uneasily at the door. “Best not risk it, though.” He flicked his wand and said, “ _Colloportus!”_

With a soft _click_ , the door sealed itself shut. Then, with his free hand, Sirius twirled his fingers at the lock, adding a wandless charm. “There,” he said. “It won’t open for anyone but me, unless they have a battering ram. Though, to be on the safe side, we should probably just wait until Hogwarts before we risk it.”

“Agreed,” James said. “Ruddy brilliant, that wandless magic you’ve got.”

“What about the food trolly?” came a squeaky voice behind them.

Sirius and James exchanged a look, and together, they turned, only to find that the compartment was already occupied by two boys, sitting across from each other on the benches.

The boy who’d spoken, a short, plump, mousy little thing, stared up at James and Sirius with beady eyes. Stringy blonde hair hung down almost to his eyes, and he twirled his fingers together nervously.

The other boy, Sirius recognized immediately. He’d seen him on the platform, hugging his father goodbye. Up close, the boy’s amber eyes were utterly brilliant, bright and intelligent. His face, though marred by those three, silvery scars, was covered in freckles. His curly hair flopped around a bit, as he inclined his head to get a better look at Sirius and James. On his lap, there was a satchel, with an embroidered buckle that read, _R.J. Lupin._

The boy with the scars and the beautiful eyes looked between them, then met Sirius’s gaze, dead on. “He’s right. What about the trolley, then? You expect us to go hungry just because you lot are running from trouble?”

Sirius shrugged. “I don’t like chocolate much, anyway,” he said.

All three of them stared at Sirius like he’d just proclaimed the Queen of England was, in fact, a singing kangaroo. 

“You don’t…” James started, “like chocolate?”

“Who the bloody hell doesn’t like chocolate?” asked the boy with the scars, so indignant that it took Sirius a bit by surprise.

“I’ll have you know, _R.J. Lupin_ ,” Sirius said, strolling over and plopping down next to the boy with the scars, careful to keep a good amount of space between them, “that actually, I think I’m allergic.”

“Allergic?” said R.J. Lupin, twisting a bit in his seat to look properly at Sirius. “To chocolate?”

Sirius nodded. He pulled one knee up to his chest, his foot resting on the bench between him and the Lupin boy, and leaned back against the window. “That’s right,” he said. “Makes me sick, every time.”

“Well,” said the mousy boy, budging over so James could sit directly across from Sirius. “What are the rest of us supposed to do? Starve to death?”

Sirius smirked and pointed his wand at the compartment door. “If any one of you blokes can open that door, I will march right up to Malfoy, surrender, and await expulsion.”

“Oi! If you get expelled, so do I, Black!” James said, attempting to kick Sirius, who narrowly dodged the foot by smashing himself further against the window.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Challenge stands, boys.”

The mousy boy let out a whine, but gave up. Lupin, however, seemed to consider it. He drew out his own wand.

Sirius hadn’t really expected any of them to try it, but was delighted that this boy sitting next to him was up for a challenge. “Go on, then,” he said to Lupin. “So you know, _Alohomora_ won’t do you any good. I added a special sticking charm. My own invention.” He waved his fingers, showing them all the magic dancing between them in little sparks and flecks of color.

Lupin considered this, then conceded. “Alright, you win. We’re all starve together. Can’t have you expelled on the first day.”

The mousy boy let out a long, distraught groan.

Lupin kicked him. “Cheer up, mate. There’ll be a feast, once we’re sorted.” He turned back to Sirius. “What exactly did you do, to warrant an expulsion?”

Sirius ran his tongue over his teeth and threw a wink at Lupin, then counted off on his fingers. “We stopped a mad prefect from bullying a first year half-blood, made said prefect’s clothes invisible, questioned his ability to procreate with his tiny little prick, whilst his betrothed looked on in horror, then Jamie here engaged in a minor duel, which, unfortunately left the sniveling greasy-haired first year fellow unconscious—”

“Oi!” James said. He gave Sirius a funny look and mouthed, _Jamie?_

Sirius just shrugged. “Then, I made the hallways turn to ice, and we ran for our lives, pursued by a rather vengeful, naked prefect. Which, incidentally, is about when we ran into you lot.”

Lupin and the mousy boy blinked at him. Then, after a minute of what Sirius chose to call _basking in his brilliance_ , the mousy boy said, “So what house are you two in, then?”

James and Sirius exchange a glance, ready to reply, but Lupin beat them to it. “They’re first years, Pete. Just like us.”

James and Sirius nodded.

“But…” the mousy boy—Pete—began. He pointed a shaky finger at Sirius. “He knows spells. He’s _invented_ spells, didn’t you hear him? And _you_!” The finger moved to James. “You said _he—”_ Back to Sirius. “—did wandless magic!”

A wicked grin spread across Sirius’s face. “I’ve had loads of practice.”

“P-practice?” Pete squeaked.

This time Sirius shrugged. “Orion and Walburga weren’t going to send their oldest son to Hogwarts without knowing a fair bit of magic, now were they? They do _so_ like to brag. Perks of coming from a pure-blood family, I guess.”

Lupin narrowed his eyes. “How’d you get around the underage magic laws?”

He winked again. “The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black hardly ever plays by the rules, mate.”

“I’m pure-blood and I had to obey the rules,” Pete whined.

“Me too,” James said, cocking an eyebrow at Sirius that clearly said, _Explain, Black._

Sirius turned his attention to Lupin and waited.

“Don’t look at me,” Lupin said. “My mum is a Muggle. No special underage magic privileges here. Now out with it.”

As subtly as he could manage, Sirius pressed himself back against the window just a bit more, now very keen in avoiding contact with Lupin. Lupin, however, seemed to notice and shot Sirius an appraising look.

“There are wards around Grimmauld Place—where I grew up,” Sirius said, rather than allowing Lupin to formulate a question regarding why Sirius was trying to put more distance between them. “The wards keep even the Ministry in the dark, to the spells performed on the grounds of the house. Which means, while I’m there, I can use magic.”

 _It also means,_ Sirius thought, rather savagely, _that Dark Magic is undetectable and the Unforgivables go unnoticed._

“That is _so_ bloody unfair!” James whined.

“That it is, mate,” Sirius said.

Sirius caught Lupin watching him, his amber eyes taking in all of Sirius’s little quirks and mannerisms. Sirius watched Lupin right back. His jumper was a bit rumpled and Sirius could see another long, silvery scar poking out from beneath his collar. Biting his lip and meeting Lupin’s eye, Sirius said, “How’d you get your scars?”

James sputtered a bit. “Salazar’s balls, Sirius!” he hissed. “You can’t just ask a bloke that!”

Lupin, on the other hand, seemed to find it amusing. “It’s alright,” he said, absently tracing the marks on his face with his long fingers. He turned to Sirius. “I fell out of a tree, when I was young. Climbed right up to the very top, then the branch gave way. Scratched my face and arms up pretty bad on the way down, then felt like I broke every bone in my body when I landed. My dad was away on business, so my mum rushed me to the emergency room—”

“Emergency room?” Sirius interrupted. “Muggles have whole rooms for emergencies?”

James made a face, equally confused.

“No, it’s…” Lupin laughed. “It’s at the Muggle hospital—like St. Mungo’s—but for the worst Muggle injuries.”

“Oh,” Sirius and James said together.

“Anyway,” Lupin continued, “the Muggles fixed me up fine, but seeing as they had no magic, it ended up scarring pretty bad.”

Lupin looked down at his hands, fiddling with the hem of his jumper.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. He didn’t believe Lupin’s story for one sodding second. He recognized a nervous gesture when he saw one and he knew when someone was lying. Merlin knows, Sirius had done it enough himself: make polite excuses for the bruises—like the ones still currently gracing his ribs—or for the split lips or baggy eyes. He knew _how_ to make excuses that were just plausible enough that people will accept it as the truth because they’re too uncomfortable to press farther.

Sirius also knew that, no matter how desperately he wanted to know the truth, he wasn’t going to force Lupin to give himself up, to reveal his secret—whatever that may be—to three strangers in this compartment on the Hogwarts Express.

Sirius Black knew how to pick his battles

He turned, instead, to Lupin and the mousy boy. “What are your proper names, then?” He quirked an eyebrow at Lupin. “Unless you actually go by _R.J. Lupin_?”

The mousy boy nearly jumped out of his seat in the process of extending his hand across the aisle to Sirius. “I’m Peter Pettigrew.”

Sirius, a bit startled by the interruption and forwardness of Peter Pettigrew, managed a smile. “Sirius Black,” he said, and he took the grubby hand. It neither hurt nor didn’t hurt, shaking Peter’s hand. It was an odd sensation, almost the precipice of pain, but Sirius was grateful for it.

Peter had said he was pure-blood, which had to be true, he supposed, though not from a blood traitor family, like James. Sirius didn’t know if that was good or bad, or if he particularly wanted to associate with another pure-blood in good standing with other pure-bloods. It would make his mother—well, _proud_ was the wrong word, but perhaps _not in a rage—_ if he were to associate with other boys his age from a decently respectable lineage.

That thought alone made Sirius drop Peter’s hand long before it was strictly polite, though the handshake itself caused Sirius almost no pain.

Sirius turned towards the scarred boy sitting next to him and looked him up and down. Lupin had a Muggle mother and, judging from the exchange on the platform, a wizard father. Sirius already had a sneaking suspicion that Lupin was onto him about the burning-pain-from-physical-contact-with-anyone-strictly-less-than-pure-blood thing, so, bracing himself for the agony of touching a half-blood, extended his hand. “Sirius Black,” he said again.

Lupin raised an eyebrow at the offered hand. “Remus Lupin,” he said, after a second, shook Sirius’s hand.

Now, Sirius Black would say that he’s quite accustomed to pain. Growing up in Grimmauld Place would do that to anyone. But, the moment Remus Lupin touched his hand, Sirius Black very nearly bit off the tip of his tongue to keep from screaming.

He yanked his hand away, barely a second later, clutching it close to his chest, and tasting blood in his mouth. Shaking hands with Ted Tonks had hurt, nearly as bad as the Cruciatus curse. But this…

 _This_ …

This was _worse._

“Bloody hell, Lupin, you sure you’re not Muggle-born?” Sirius blurted, before he could stop himself.

All three boys stopped and stared at him.

Sirius froze in horror, realizing what he said and what it implied. “I mean, just…” he stammered, inching closer to the window and farther away from Remus Lupin. “Merlin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I swear I’m not a pure-blood fanatic. Ask James!”

Peter and Remus looked to James, who nodded and shrugged. “If he was, he’d never talk to me, either. The Potters—that’s my family—are considered blood traitors to the Blacks.”

“You had a firm handshake, is all,” Sirius said, waving a dismissive hand between him and Remus. “It startled me. I don’t shake hands very much, and I know Muggles do, so… Sorry.”

Remus held his gaze for a long moment, then turned back to Peter and James, a soft smile on his face. Sirius let out a breath of relief. “So. Since we’re all first years, how do you figure you’ll all be sorted?”

James leaned back in his seat, propping his feet up across the aisle, resting them between Remus and Sirius. Sirius, for his part, scrunched himself up as far as he could go against the window, desperate to avoid any more contact after that handshake with Remus.

Remus gave him an odd look, but after a second, grabbed James’s ankles and rested them on his lap instead of the bench, giving Sirius a little more room. Sirius avoided his eyes as he managed to relax a little.

James, on the other hand, noticed absolutely nothing of this exchange. “I’ll be in Gryffindor, for sure,” he said, twirling his wand. After a second, he pointed it at Sirius. “He’ll be Slytherin. We’re destined to have an ongoing prank war between our two houses, him and me, the likes of which Hogwarts has never seen before and shall never see again.”

Sirius snorted.

Remus, however, gave Sirius a critical look, his brows pinching in such a way that the scars on his face crinkled a bit. “Slytherin?” he said to Sirius. “You don’t seem like a Slytherin to me.”

Sirius didn’t know how to respond to that. “I’m a _Black_ ,” he said, rather stupidly.

James swatted Remus with his foot. “‘Course he’s a Slytherin.” He pulled his feet back, sitting up straight and rubbing his hands together. “Picture this, lads. Two houses, both alike in dignity, in fair—oh, Merlin. Where the bloody hell are we?”

“Scotland,” Remus said.

James didn’t miss a beat. “In fair Scotland, where we lay our scene.”

Remus scoffed. “No one, in the history of English literature has ever called Scotland _fair_.”

“Ol’ Will Shakespeare is rolling in his grave,” James conceded.

Sirius, rather feeling like he was missing something, squirmed a little in his seat. After a second, he became increasingly aware of Remus’s gaze on him, reading every secret Sirius kept trying to hide.

“Do you want to be in Slytherin?” Remus asked, like it was the most obvious question in the world.

Sirius was fairly certain that his jaw dropped. No one had ever asked him that before. No one. Not Regulus, or Andromeda, or James Potter. Everyone had just assumed—hell, even Sirius had assumed—that he’d just end up in Slytherin. It was the way things were done, it was fucking _natural_ for a Black to be in Slytherin.

For all he knew, it was written in the goddamned _stars_.

He proved it, the day he got his wand, from the moment he performed the Cruciatus curse and every bit of hope he had that he’d be something different—something _better_ —than the monsters that filled his family tree slowly began to die.

“Well?” Remus prompted. “Do you want to be in Slytherin, Sirius?”

 _More than anything, no_.

“I’m a Black,” Sirius said, again, furious at how unfair it all was. “I’m afraid I don’t have much choice. The Hat will put me in Slytherin and that’ll be that. Bet it won’t even be on my head for more than a second or two.”

Remus reached out a comforting hand, but pulled it back in midair when he caught the flash of fear in Sirius’s eyes. With his head bowed, and praying the two across the aisle didn’t see, Sirius shot Remus a grateful look.

“What about you, then?” James said, placing his feet in Remus’s lap once more.

Remus shrugged. “My dad was in Ravenclaw, when he was in school. He went on to work at the Ministry for a while before I…” He trailed off, and he opened and closed his mouth, almost as if he were trying to pull back some of his words.“Well, we moved around a lot. Dad got mostly Muggle jobs after that.”

 _Oh, there was something else to that story_ , Sirius thought, his eyes narrowed.

“So it’s Ravenclaw for you, then?” Sirius asked.

Remus smirked at him. “S’pose so. It’s in my blood, after all. I’m not sure I have much of a choice.”

Sirius frowned.

“What about you, Pete?” Remus asked, that smirk still tugging at his lips. “Is there some great family tradition dictating your fate as well?”

Sirius gaped at Remus Lupin, ninety percent sure that the other boy was making fun of him. It was a new experience, really. Few people ever tended to taunt the Black heir and, if they did, usually ended up facing the wrath of either Sirius or his parents. Sirius, however, found that he didn’t mind so much, when Remus teased him, especially about his Sorting. He found, instead, that it stirred up something that felt dangerously close to _hope_.

Remus Lupin didn’t believe he was going to be in Slytherin.

It didn’t matter much, but it was a nice thought, he supposed.

“Well,” Peter said, shifting a little in his seat. “Mum was in Slytherin. Dad was in Gryffindor, but he left when I was a baby, so I don’t expect I take after him much. Mum doesn’t think I’ll be Slytherin. She says I’m not clever enough. She thinks I’ll be Hufflepuff.”

Sirius wanted to laugh, but then thought the better of it. His parents had a lot to say about pure-bloods that were sorted into Hufflepuff, but he didn’t think any of his companions would take kindly to anyone voicing these ideas.

“Look at that,” James said, clapping his hands together, a smirk dancing on his face. “All four houses represented in one compartment. What are the odds of that?”

They carried on like that for a good long while, as the train sped across the Scottish landscape. James and Remus bonded over this William Shakespeare fellow, a conversation to which Sirius took no interest whatsoever, and instead, mostly spent staring out the window, ever-cautious that the boy next to him didn’t get too close.

At one point during their rather exuberant conversation, James heaved a full body laugh, nearly kicking Remus in the groin. Remus let out an indignant whine followed by a string of very rude French curses.

Sirius, who had been feeling a bit left out in his brooding, brightened up immediately, then proceeded to scold Remus for his fowl language in his own near-perfect French. After many similar reprimands from his string of French tutors over the years, Sirius was rather well-versed in the language. Remus, though at first stunned that he’d been understood, became rather animated as he replied. As it turns out, Remus’s mother had been born in France, and both of his maternal grandparents still lived in the French countryside.

Eventually, James grew tired of the two blokes carrying on in French across from him. He gave Remus another light kick, this time deliberately aiming for less sensitive bits. James and Sirius struck up a conversation about Quidditch, as the Holyhead Harpies had made it to the World Cup again this year. Sirius’s team—or rather, Regulus’s—the Chudley Cannons had also done fairly well for themselves, though not, much to Sirius’s dismay, as well as the Harpies. Sirius and James both tried and failed to suppress bouts of laughter when Peter voiced his support for the Caerphilly Catapults. Peter pouted and insisted that though the Catapults hadn’t even been _decent_ in nearly twenty years, they were due for a winning streak, despite their tremendous losses this past season.

Remus wasn’t too familiar with Quidditch at all—he’d only heard vague mentions of it from his dad—so, upon discovering this, the three pure-bloods spent the rest of the train ride explaining the rules and strategies to Remus, so he wouldn’t make a fool of himself during Ravenclaw’s first match.

For the love of Merlin, Sirius found himself wishing he could sit next to Remus during that match. Remus would undoubtedly make a fool of himself as he pretended to know what was going on in the sky above him.

But, Sirius would be sitting with the Slytherins, under the watchful eye of his cousin and Lucius Malfoy.

It was a shame, really. Sirius, much to his own annoyance, found that he rather liked these boys. He knew, once he was sorted, he’d see very little of them. Peter, well, Sirius wasn’t sure how he felt about Peter. He supposed Peter was decent enough, though a bit whiny. Sooner rather than later, though, he’d be sorted into Hufflepuff, branded useless and a blood traitor and Sirius would never see him again. Sirius supposed if he could keep the fact that Remus was a half-blood from getting back to his parents, he might get away with an acquaintanceship, if Remus was in Ravenclaw. At the very least, Remus wouldn’t be Gryffindor and a fated rival, like James. He’d still _see_ James, of course, which was a slight consolation. Sirius rather liked James Potter and not even the rather explicit threats from Walburga Black could keep him from James indefinitely. The fact of the matter, as James so helpfully pointed out twice now, they’re destined to be rivals in opposite houses, apparent enemies to everyone in the school.

Outside, the world whizzed by and Sirius sank further into his seat against the window. The closer they got to Hogwarts, the more their inevitable fates made Sirius’s skin crawl and his stomach twist into knots. He didn’t want _this_ —whatever was beginning in the compartment of the train—to be over. He didn’t want to be forced to ignore Peter’s very existence, to merely pass Remus in the halls with a nod and a small smile, nor maintain a cold distance from James Potter.

Sirius Black very much didn’t want to be alone.

When the train finally rolled to a stop, Sirius tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He went to stand, wand out, ready to undo the charm and locking spell on the door, ready to face the Sorting Hat and his inevitable fate. However, much to his surprise, Remus beat him to it. Remus muttered a spell that Sirius didn’t quite catch, flicked his wand, and the compartment door popped right open.

Remus turned back to face them, swinging his satchel over his shoulder, a smirk plastered on his scarred face.

“Why didn’t you do that earlier, when the trolley was coming around?” Peter whined.

Sirius just gaped at Remus, opening and closing his mouth a few times in shock. _No one_ —not his mother, not Kreacher, nor his father—undid his locking charms. Sirius prided himself on being quite good at them.

“How did you—?” Sirius began, but Remus just winked at him and walked out.

James, also rather flabbergasted at this development, pointed a threatening finger at Sirius. “We are _not_ turning ourselves in to Malfoy. I did _not_ agree to that nor will I be in trouble before I’m even properly sorted.”

He then stood and followed Remus into the throng of students.

 

                                                                                                    

 

As it turned out, there was no need for Sirius and James to surrender themselves to Malfoy.

After the boat ride up to the castle—during which Peter vomited into the lake, despite insisting his stomach was decidedly empty before boarding —the four boys hardly had time to marvel at the great might that was Rubeus Hagrid (This _was Andromeda’s friend?!_ thought Sirius), before an angry, fat professor was storming out of the castle, mumbling, “Honestly, they get worse every year!”

James saw the professor too, as the fat man paused at the steps of the castle to take a few huge gulps of air. “That’ll be Slughorn, then,” James said. “My dad told me about him. They were in the same year.”

Sirius briefly recalled Andromeda mentioning the Head of Slytherin once or twice, but given how infrequently he’d heard her mention ol’ Slughorn, Sirius couldn’t imagine Andromeda had taken a particular liking to him.

Sirius froze when Slughorn descended the steps, storming down to the incoming first years, tailed by none other than Lucius Malfoy—who, though now properly clothed, his robes were still somewhat transparent when he walked—the greasy-haired first year, and a short girl with unbelievable red hair.

“Oh, Merlin,” Sirius muttered.

“JAMES POTTER!” roared Slughorn, his face turning beat red, as he wheezed a little bit when he finally reached the crowd of first years. “Which one of you is James Potter?”

“Uh,” James said, intelligently, coming to a stop next to Sirius. Remus and Peter pulled up short behind them, Remus very carefully avoiding running smack into Sirius.

Lucius Malfoy pointed. “ _There_ , Professor.”

“James Potter?” Slughorn asked, coming to a stop in front of the four of them.

“Uh,” James said, again. “Yeah.”

“Did you or did you not hex Severus Snape unconscious on the Hogwarts Express?” Slughorn demanded, gesturing to the greasy-haired first year. Severus Snape kept his long nose to the ground, but the girl behind him glared at Sirius and James with a fury that ran as red as her hair.

“What? No, I—” James began.

“Did you or did you not cause Mr. Snape to fall unconscious, then run traipsing through the corridor, causing all sorts of disorder and mayhem, as Mr. Malfoy tried to bring you to justice?”

James flushed red in anger, then gestured wildly at Sirius. “Oi! I wasn’t alone!” James snapped. “Sirius was with me! Sirius, _tell_ him!”

Sirius, for his part, mimicked Severus Snape and kept eyes focused on the ground. He had a rather sickening feeling that he knew exactly how this was going to play out. And, right now, he couldn’t afford for this to get back to his parents.

Slughorn’s eyes flicked to Sirius, just for a second, before he turned all his rage and fury back to James. “Yes or no, Mr. Potter,” Slughorn growled. “Did you cause Mr. Snape to fall unconscious?”

“Well, _yes_ , but—”

“That’s _enough,_ Mr. Potter!” Slughorn shouted and James snapped his mouth shut. “This type of bullying will not be tolerated at Hogwarts. I’ll be writing your parents tonight.” Then, mostly to himself, he muttered. “Detention before the Sorting ceremony. That’s certainly a new one.”

“ _What?!”_ James cried. “But I—”

“ _Detention_ , Mr. Potter,” Slughorn snapped. “One week, starting tomorrow after class. You’ll be with me, in the dungeons, scrubbing something unspeakable, I’d imagine. And twenty points from whatever bloody house you’re sorted into.”

“But, Professor—”

“Not another word, or I make it two weeks of detention.” Slughorn paused, glaring at James and daring him to say something. James, with a furious look in his eye that rather reminded Sirius of his mother’s murderous rage, kept his mouth shut. After a tense moment, Slughorn huffed, “Good,” then marched back up to the castle, heaving as he chanced the stairs.

Snape and the red headed girl followed him, but only after the red head shoved two fingers in the air and stuck her tongue out at James.

“Learn your place, blood traitor,” Malfoy snarled, before following Slughorn back towards the castle.

The second they were gone, James whirled on Sirius and shoved him backwards, right into Remus. Sirius, though stunned, bit his tongue to keep from crying out, once more tasting blood, but managed to maintain most his composure. He straightened quickly, stepping well out of Remus’s space, should James shove him again.

“Why the bloody fuck am I in trouble and you’re not?!” James growled. “You’re the one who iced the corridors and caused a scene!”

Sirius looked down at his feet. “Ah,” he said, sheepishly. “The Black heir is awarded certain privileges, I imagine, by the Head of Slytherin.”

James did shove him again, but this time, Sirius kept his own footing. “You’re just like _them_ , then _,_ aren’t you, _Black?_ Pure-blood fanatic that sets himself up on a pedestal to look down at the rest of us blood traitors and half-bloods.”

That hurt far more than Sirius was expecting. James was his _friend_ , for Merlin’s sake. “James, no, I’m not like them, I swear!”

“Then go tell Slughorn that you were in on it too!”

 _That_ was the one thing Sirius couldn’t do. If his parents got wind of what he’d done to Malfoy, there’d be hell to pay, and Sirius highly doubted the distance would be much of a deterrent. “I-I can’t, James, I’m sorry,” Sirius stammered.

“Then stay the fuck away from me.” James went to shove him once more, but this Sirius flinched back. James stopped, mid-motioned, and sneered at him. “You can’t even stand to _touch_ me, can you? I’m just a goddamned filthy blood traitor after all, aren’t I?”

“No, James, I—”

James tried to reach out for Sirius, just to touch him, but once more, Sirius flinched back on instinct. James huffed, having proved his point, then grabbed Peter’s arm instead. “Come on, Pete. Let’s go find us some better company.”

Sirius felt rather like he’d had his heart pulled from his chest as he watched James strut towards the castle, with Peter in tow. James was his _friend_ , goddamnit, the only one he’d be allowed to properly keep once he’s sorted, even if it would be under the guise of mortal enemies. Now, though, well. Now, James _was_ his enemy.

Remus stepped up next to Sirius, who stood there in a sort of daze. Remus, rather than nudging Sirius to get his attention, cleared his throat.

Sirius looked at him and saw something dangerously close to sympathy in those freaky amber eyes, but that couldn’t be right. Blacks were hardly ever the recipients of something so menial as sympathy. “You should go after them,” Sirius said.

“Why?” Remus asked, innocently.

Sirius gave him a look. “I’m a Slytherin. A pure-blood fanatic, just like my family. Didn’t you hear?”

Remus shrugged. “I don’t think you’re meant to be Slytherin.”

Sirius could have laughed. Remus, it seemed, was in something of a state of adamant denial. “Yeah? And how do you figure that? You don’t know me, Lupin.”

“You’re not like other Slytherins.” Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but Remus cut him off. “If you were, you wouldn’t have pulled that prank in the first place, nor would you have spoken with me once you figured out my mum is a Muggle. James is just upset that he got caught. He’ll get over it.”

Given what he knew about James Potter, Sirius rather doubted it, but he was grateful to Remus all the same, even if he was dead wrong. He knew Remus would feel different once Sirius was sorted into Slytherin and Sirius would be forced to pretend they’d never met.

Remus, however, seemed to know exactly what he’s thinking. “Let’s go on up to the castle, then,” he said, “so you can tell that old hat that it can go fuck itself.”

Sirius blinked. “And why would I do that?”

“Because you don’t want to be in Slytherin either.”

 

                                                                                                    

 

James Potter hexed his robes, the second they entered the Great Hall, to make them far longer than they had been when Madam Malkin stitched them. Sirius fell flat on his face, right in front of everyone, and the Great Hall erupted in laughter. Sirius felt his face flush red, but he didn’t retaliate. He may have deserved that.

Remus stopped next to him, though he didn’t bend to help Sirius up, for which Sirius was quite grateful. “You alright?”

“Yes.” Sirius stood, his face contorting a bit as the movement jostled the bruises on his ribcage. He brushed off his robes, then flicked his wrist so that his robes returned to their normal lengths.

From the other end of the crowd of first years, James Potter wore a wicked smirk. Peter looked quite amused, as well.

Sirius turned back to Remus. He gestured at James and Peter. “You sure you wouldn’t rather be over there, then?”

Remus shrugged. “I’m sure.”

Sirius didn’t understand Remus Lupin. What kind of person—let alone a half-blood, for Merlin’s sake—deliberately associated with a pure-blood, especially a pure-blood from a family like the Blacks?

Next to him, Remus stopped. “Christ,” he said. “Sirius, look up!”

Already knowing what he was going to see, Sirius looked up. The ceiling sparkled, the galaxy streaked across the beams and supports. A comet shot past, overhead, and the half-moon hovered over the professors’ table at the end of the hall.

Glancing at Remus, Sirius felt himself smiling, despite everything, at the look of sheer wonder plastered on Remus’s scarred face. Sirius remembered Auclair’s taunt, that the stars of Hogwarts castle were nothing more than parlor tricks to impress those of lesser breeding. Maybe it’s true, maybe it wasn’t. Sirius didn’t particularly care, so long as that wonder never left Remus’s eyes.

“First years, form a line. Come now!” said an older witch, in flowing, burgundy robes. _McGonagall_ , Sirius guessed.

The first years hurried to comply, and formed a line in front of the four tables, all of them facing the professors. Remus and Sirius stayed towards the far end of the line, closest to the Slytherin table.James and Peter stood at the other end, nearest Gryffindor.

Sirius felt Narcissa’s eyes on the back of his neck, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

“Welcome, students!” boomed Albus Dumbledore, from the pedestal at the front of the Great Hall. “It is my immense pleasure to bid you all a fair welcome to another year at Hogwarts.”

Sirius frowned. Dumbledore was nothing like he was expecting, nothing like the idea of this great and powerful wizard he’d formed after years of listening to his parents’ angry mutterings. Dumbledore, to Sirius, seemed perfectly ordinary. Long, white beard, standard robes… There was about him that suggested he was the formidable wizard his parents claimed him to be. The Headmaster’s eyes, beneath their half-moon glasses, sparkled just as much as the stars overhead.

“I’d like to welcome Professor Amelia Rattleburn as our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” Dumbledore said, gesturing to a young professor, with blond, curly hair. She gave a short wave, but did not change her vacant expression otherwise. “Now, some ground rules, before the Sorting.”

There was a chorus of annoyed groans, coming mostly from the Gryffindor end of the hall.

“I feel it necessary to remind all of you,” Dumbledore said, eying the Gryffindors, “that the Forbidden Forest is off limits to all students, and with good reason. Second, for those of you eligible to go to Hogsmeade, it would seem that the shack at the edge of town has become rather haunted over the summer, by a string of malevolent spirits. Madam Rosmerta tells me they’re now calling it the Shrieking Shack. For the safety of all students, no one is allowed anywhere near it.”

Next to him, Remus visibly stiffened at the mention of the Shrieking Shack. Sirius gave him an odd look, and filed the reaction away for later.

“Finally,” Dumbledore said, “there’s a small matter of groundskeeping that needs to be addressed. It would seem that our dear groundskeeper, Hagrid, has acquired a rather special willow tree and has planted it on the edge of the grounds.”

Sirius blinked at the Headmaster. Ollivander had told him that the tree from which Sirius’s wand was made had been planted at Hogwarts. _This_ had to be the tree.

“Hagrid tells me he’s taken to calling this tree the Whomping Willow, as, thus far, it has taken swipes at everyone who draws near to it,” Dumbledore said. “Hagrid’s already had his fair share of nasty bruises, so I advise all of you to stay well out of range of this Whomping Willow.”

Sirius frowned. That can’t be right. Ollivander had also said that the enchanted willow was a guardian of a secret, not enchanted with a spell that left bruises on passerbys.

“Professor McGonagall, the Sorting Hat, if you please,” Dumbledore said.

McGonagall stepped forward, holding a dusty old hat, and set it on the stool in front of Dumbledore’s pedestal.

The Sorting Hat opened at the brim and belted out a song about the founders of Hogwarts and the houses. Sirius didn’t pay much attention to it, and instead, had taken to fidgeting with the corners of his robes.

“You’ll be fine,” Remus whispered, when the song was over. He’d noticed Sirius’s fidgeting. “I promise.”

Sirius had no clue how Remus could promise such a thing, not when he had to know, even if he was in denial about it, that very soon, Sirius would be sitting next to Narcissa and Malfoy and that would be the end of their very brief friendship.

McGonagall began calling names from a parchment, in alphabetical order. There was a Ravenclaw, a few Hufflepuffs, but Sirius hardly paid attention, before McGonagall called out, “Black, Sirius!”

Maybe it was his imagination, but Sirius felt a chill pass over the crowd as he sat down on the stool. McGonagall lowered the Hat onto his head.

“SLYTHER— _hmph.”_

The Hat cut off, mid-Sorting.

The crowd fell silent.

 _What?!_ Sirius thought, alarmed.

 _I don’t think you belong in Slytherin, Mr. Black_ , said the disembodied voice of the Sorting Hat.

 _Why does everyone keep saying that?_ Sirius thought, in a bit of a huff. He wanted this over with. He wanted to get on with his fate, on with his destiny as the Black heir, and leave behind the memories of the pseudo-friends he’d made on the Hogwarts Express.

Out in the crowd, Sirius caught Remus’s eye. There was a knowing smirk that danced between the scars on Remus’s face.

 _I don’t think you belong in Slytherin,_ the Hat repeated. _Hm. I don’t think you_ want _to be in Slytherin._

_I’m a Black._

_Yes, and it appears one that would be best suited elsewhere._

_No. Can’t be right_ , Sirius thought, bitterly.

 _And why’s that?_ The Hat, if Sirius didn’t know better, sounded rather smug.

 _Because I’m a Black_ , Sirius repeated. _Blacks belong in Slytherin._

_Why else?_

Sirius didn’t dare reply to that.

 _Do you_ want _to be in Slytherin, Mr. Black?_ the Sorting Hat asked.

Again, Sirius said nothing, though the Hat waited for a response.

Then, aloud, the Sorting Hat said, “Well, seeing as you have no opinion on the matter, whatsoever, I find it best in these circumstances to follow the family’s tradition. Therefore, it would seem, that you, Sirius Black, are best suited for… SLYTH—”

 _Please, no_.

Again, the Hat swallowed its words.

_What was that, Mr. Black?_

Sirius squeezed his eyes closed. He couldn’t stand to look out over the crowd who were clearly not expecting a Black to take so long.

 _Please, no_ , Sirius thought, now desperate. He didn’t want his family’s predestined life for him. He didn’t want to sit between Narcissa and Malfoy, sneering at people like Remus Lupin from across the Great Hall. He didn’t want the Dark Magic, nor the mind games, nor the subversive quests for power.

He found, much to his surprise, that he didn’t care what it cost him.

 _I don’t want to be in fucking Slytherin_ , Sirius said, with all the conviction he possessed.

The Hat chuckled a bit. _I thought not. Now, now. Where to place the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, if not in Slytherin? Hm. Gryffindor would do quite nicely, yes._

It was, apparently Sirius’s turn to laugh. _What? I can’t be in Gryffindor_.

_And why not?_

_Because I’m not brave._

_I beg to differ, Mr. Black._

_Really?_ scoffed Sirius. _Fine. Then I can’t be in Gryffindor because I’ve used the Cruciatus curse._

 _Ah, yes_ , said the Hat, its voice suddenly grim. _Your first spell with your unicorn hair wand, yes? Best be careful with that wand, now. It’s dying, you know._

 _I know._ He had known, at least in theory, but this confirmed it. Sirius felt his heart shatter. _No Gryffindor would have used that curse. No Gryffindor would have killed their own wand._

_What was the second spell?_

_What?_

_Answer, please,_ the Sorting Hat said. _I do have other destinies to write, you know. After the Unforgivable curse, Mr. Black, what was the second spell you cast with that beautiful wand of yours?_

Sirius cast his memories back to that night, after his father killed Auclair, after Regulus crawled into his bed.

 _Oh,_ Sirius thought. _A healing spell. I cast a healing spell on Regulus._

_Hmm, yes. Ah, young lionheart, you cast a healing spell, with a cursed wand, on someone so fiercely loved._

Sirius couldn’t come up with anything he could possibly say to that.

 _Ah, but for that first spell. Hmm. An act of heroism, brought about by desperation, it seems,_ the Sorting Hat concluded

_No, that’s not—_

_It’s not an excuse, Mr. Black, nor is it a defense for your actions. But you, Sirius Black, have a streak of bravery in you that rivals very few, even a good many that I’ve placed in Gryffindor over the years. I expect you’ll have to find a new core for that wand of yours, though._

Sirius didn’t say anything. He hadn’t even been aware that was an option.

_Is this truly something you want, to be made into a pariah by your family, to be tormented by your peers, to be judged by your name, until you prove the true intentions of your heart by your actions?_

Sirius opened his eyes, bracing himself for the fallout. _Yes._

“GRYFFINDOR!” roared the Hat.

Unlike the few students who’d been sorted before him, there was no applause when McGonagall lifted the Hat off Sirius’s head. The crowd just stared, unblinking and silent, up at him. Even Dumbledore seemed rather astounded by this development.

Remus caught Sirius’s eye and winked, an _I-told-you-so_ written on his face. Sirius took three steps towards the Gryffindor table, before he stopped and almost went back to beg the Hat to put him into Slytherin.

James Potter looked positively murderous.

Nonetheless, Sirius slipped past James and sat at the end of the Gryffindor table. Everyone in Gryffindor stared at him, almost as though Sirius were a wild animal that had somehow found its way into their village.

After a tense moment, when nobody in the entire Hall dared to breathe a word, the Gryffindor prefect stood, walked to the end of the table, and offered his hand to Sirius. “Frank Longbottom,” the prefect said.

 _Longbottom_. _Pure-blood_ , Sirius thought, and took the proffered hand without hesitating. It didn’t hurt in the slightest. “Sirius Bla—” Sirius started.

“Yeah. I know who you are,” Frank said, a rather shaky smile dancing on his lips.“Welcome to Gryffindor, mate.”

Frank was nervous, wary of the new addition, clearly aware of the major breech in tradition that had occurred moments ago. _A Black in Gryffindor_. Frank stared at him, oddity that he was, and Sirius saw the distrust that lingered just below the welcoming prefect exterior.

Whether it was all for show or not, the rest of Gryffindor took their cues from Frank and began a slow chorus of applause.

A part of Sirius breathed a huge sigh of relief. He had a place he belonged, a home, now, in Gryffindor.

Another part of him—the part more concerned with survival and self-preservation—didn’t dareturn around to look at the Slytherin table.

With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore gestured at McGonagall to continue with the Sorting. Sirius only caught a few, between him and Remus. The red-headed girl—Lily Evans, it turned out—was immediately sorted into Gryffindor, though she didn’t look particularly pleased about it. She stormed over to the table, pointedly ignored Sirius, and sat closest to the second years.

“Lupin, Remus,” McGonagall called.

Despite himself, Sirius held his breath. At least, now that he was in Gryffindor, he’d be able to be proper friends with Remus in Ravenclaw. Sirius, admittedly, felt a little giddy at the thought. Whatever James’s or his mother’s fury might bring, Sirius felt confident that, for once in his life, he had a _friend_ in Remus Lupin: one who’d stay by him, no matter what.

Well, maybe not no matter what. Remus knew nothing of Sirius’s tattoo or his dying wand or the fact that he’d performed the Cruciatus curse, but those secrets would hold for the moment.

Right now, Sirius was just fucking glad he had a friend, especially considering the number of enemies he seemed to have acquired in the last hour alone.

As Remus sat down on the stool, McGonagall hovering the Hat over his shaggy-blonde hair, Remus caught Sirius’s eye and winked.

The Hat _hmmm_ ’d loudly, then said, “Why, yes of course… GRYFFINDOR!”

Around him, the Gryffindor table erupted into loud, raucous applause. Sirius was fairly certain his jaw dropped.

Remus sauntered over and plopped down right across from Sirius. He smirked, then, loud enough for James and Peter to hear from where they still stood in the line of first years, Remus said, “See? I knew you didn’t belong in Slytherin.”

Sirius opened and closed his mouth. Leaning forward, he pointed a finger at Remus and narrowed his eyes. “But… You… You’re in—”

“Gryffindor?” Remus supplied. “Looks like it. Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Finally, Sirius’s brain seemed to comprehend what’d just happened. “Thank Merlin,” Sirius breathed, before he could stop himself. Then, realizing what he said, he fidgeted a bit in his seat. “Er, I mean—”

Remus smiled at him. “It’s okay, Sirius.”

And, for a moment, Sirius believed him. There was still that darkness, that tiny inkling of terror creeping up his spine, waiting to make itself known. It was the kind of terror that was familiar with the consequences of crossing Walburga and Orion Black: the kind of white hot fear that dug its hands into the Sirius’s insides, constricting until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stand. It was the very worst kind of terror, that knew his mother would tear all of Gryffindor to shreds if she thought it would get back at her son for the shame he’d caused her.

It was a damn, waiting to burst, but for now, Sirius shoved it aside and smiled back at Remus Lupin.

The sorting continued. A Marlene McKinnon and, right after her, a Dorcas Meadows, both of whom ignored Remus and Sirius, were sorted into Gryffindor and took their seats next to and across from Lily Evans.

When it came to Peter’s turn, the Hat let out a long _hmmmmm_ as it was placed on his head. The Hall waited for the verdict. Minutes ticked by.

“Merlin,” muttered Remus, leaning across the table so only Sirius could hear him. “Pete’s is taking nearly as long as yours did.”

Sirius frowned. Despite his conversation and debate with the Sorting Hat, he hadn’t exactly realized that it had taken that long.

Finally, the Hat said, “Fine, fine. Have it your way. GRYFFINDOR!”

Sirius and Remus exchanged rather shocked looks, but then joined in the chorus of Gryffindor applause.

Peter, with a wide, giddy smile plastered on his face, took a seat right next to Sirius. “Howdy, lads,” he said. “Took a bit of doing, but looks like I’ll be joining you lot.”

Sirius was in shock, it seemed. Still doubting his own placement, there was no way in hell that Petter Pettigrew belonged in Gryffindor.

Remus, on the other hand, seemed to recover. He shot a smile at Peter and said, “Good to have you, Pete.”

All three of them turned when McGonagall called out, “Potter, James!”

In total, Sirius guessed the Sorting Hat was on James Potter’s head for all of two seconds, before it shouted out, “GRYFFINDOR!”

Though he knew James’s Sorting was pretty much a guarantee, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to join in the applause.

James strutted over, his chest poofed out, and shook hands with Frank Longbottom. Then, he turned, eyeing the first year side of the table. The only spot left was between Remus and Dorcas Meadows. Seeing as the first year girls were highly engrossed in some conversation or other, Sirius highly doubted James would get them to scoot down. With a huff, James sat down next to Remus. He crossed his arms across his chest and continued to glare at Sirius for the rest of the Sorting.

When Dumbledore announced the Sorting complete, the feast began. Food swirled into existence all around them: shepherd’s pie and spare ribs and any kind of potato he could possibly imagine. Sirius, who was no stranger to lavish meals, found that he was rather impressed. Salivating a little, Sirius reached to the middle of the table, for a bowl of potatoes.

Immediately, James Potter grabbed his hand. Sirius jerked back, with a surprised yelp, then knocked his elbow on the edge of the table. It fucking _hurt_ , but he refused to give James the satisfaction of seeing him in pain, so instead he lowered his injured arm to his lap. “What the fuck, Potter,” he hissed.

James leaned across the table, keeping his voice low and threatening. “I don’t know how you tricked that goddamned Hat into putting you in Gryffindor, but I’m onto you, Black. You’re a Slytherin, down to the bone. You don’t _fucking_ belong here and I’m never going to let you forget it.”

Sirius swallowed a lump in his throat. He knew he didn’t belong. The Hat had tried to place him in Slytherin. _Twice_. “Fuck off, James,” he muttered, that darkness inside him suddenly threatening to consume him. 

This time, reaching for a bowl of mashed peas, Sirius brought it close to his own plate, to dish it out. Sirius didn’t quite see James reach for his wand, but he heard the muttered spell, and before he could properly react, Sirius Black had mashed peas running down the front of his robes.

Hearing the noise—or perhaps Sirius’s colorful curses—the entire Gryffindor table turned to gawk at Sirius. After a second of taking in the misplaced first year now covered in green mush, nearly every Gryffindor burst out laughing.

Sirius felt himself turn bright red, ducking his head a little and hiding behind a curtain of black hair. Sirius sent a silent prayer out into the void that all this noise didn’t attract the attention of the Slytherins or his cousin.

James Potter, for one, looked rather smug.

“ _James!_ ” Remus hissed, elbowing James sharply in the side. Remus reached for his own wand, ready, apparently, to defend Sirius’s honor—and boy, wasn’t that a new feeling?

Sirius placed the now-empty bowl of mashed peas back on the table. “It’s alright, Remus,” he muttered, not daring to look at James. Instead, Sirius flicked his wrist and the mess disappeared from his robes.

Remus shot Sirius a look that said it was very much _not_ alright, what James had done.

“Everything okay down there, lads?” Frank Longbottom called, from about halfway down the table, amidst the ebbing snickers.

“Everything’s fine,” Sirius called back, despite the fact that James still had his wand pointed at him. Sirius threw a meaningful glance at Remus, begging him to back down.

With a sigh, Remus set about preparing a plate. When it was full, he handed it across the table to Sirius. Though a bit shocked, and throwing a cautious look at James, Sirius accepted the plate and handed his own empty one back to Remus.

With a huff, Remus nudged James, this time prompting him to eat. “There we go,” Remus said, once James’s, Peter’s, and his own plates were full. “Guess we’re one for four, then, aren’t we?”

Three blank faces stared at Remus.

“One for four, in guessing which house we’d all be Sorted into,” Remus explained. “Looks like we were only right about James. I hope none of us had particularly high hopes for earning decent marks in Divination.”

Sirius gave him a weak smile. He was grateful for Remus’s attempt at breaking the tension, but with James still glaring at him like that, Sirius couldn’t allow himself to relax.

Remus tried a different tactic. “Peter, you said your dad was Gryffindor, right? Guess you do take after him, then, eh?”

This time, it seemed to work. Peter went off on a tirade about his family, one that Sirius didn’t care to follow. James, aside from a few more withering glares, ignored him.

Despite a few meaningful looks at his still-full plate and what could only be constituted as a growl from Remus, Sirius didn’t dare pick up his fork until James Potter was almost done with his meal.

 

                                                                                                    

 

“First years, after me!” Frank Longbottom shouted over the roaring crowd as soon as the feast was over. Obediently, everyone stood and crowded around Frank. “Blimey,” Frank said, looking them all over. “Only seven of you this year? Makes my job easier, I guess.”

Sirius glanced around. He and Remus stood at the back of the group, separated from James and Peter by Lily and her friends, but Frank was right. There were only the seven of them.

“Right, then,” Frank said, clapping his hands together. “This way to the dormitories.”

Remus stayed close to Sirius as they walked, James and Peter, a few steps ahead, just behind the girls. As they navigated the hallways of the castle, Frank pointed out classrooms and gave general directions, and helpful tips to make it to class on time.

“Where do you think the Gryffindor common room is?” Peter whispered to James.

“North tower,” James said, without hesitating, because, of course he knew.

James Potter was Gryffindor down to his very core.

Sirius’s stomach turned over and Frank’s monologue faded to background noise. Once again, that familiar terror clawed its way up the length of his spine. _He_ was in fucking Gryffindor. He’d asked to be in fucking Gryffindor.

His mother would know about it. Salazar’s balls, with the connections Walburga Black has, she probably already knew about it.

His mother was going to fucking kill him.

Sirius’s breath came out in short, frantic gasps. His vision swirled a bit and there was a loud drum pounding away in his ears.

Next to him, he’s fairly certain Remus said something, but whatever it was, it didn’t register. Nor did he register that the rest of the group had come to a stop outside the portrait of a Fat Lady.

Suddenly, Remus grabbed his elbow, to keep Sirius from running smack into James.

Sirius let out a sharp, startled cry, and jumped away from Remus. Tears pricked the corners of his vision and Sirius willed them away, because _fuck_ that hurt, but he’d be damned if he cried in front of James Potter.

Frank stopped talking and all of Gryffindor turned to stare at Sirius.

Sirius forced himself to focus on Remus, who stood a few feet away, both his hands visible in a placating gesture. Sirius let out a breath. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Stubbed my toe.”

It was clearly a lie, but Frank let it slide and continued with his lecture about the Gryffindor rules: curfew, girls and boys dormitories, that kind of stuff.

Once again, Sirius wasn’t paying attention.

He needed help.

 _Andromeda_ , his brain supplied, and, _Merlin, why didn’t I think of this earlier?_

Remus took a step towards him, close enough to whisper to him, but hands still out in a silent promise not to touch Sirius again. “You alright, mate?”

Sirius nodded, even though, no, he fucking wasn’t, thanks. “Do you have a quill and parchment on you by chance?”

“What? Why?” Remus asked, keeping his voice low.

“You look like the sort of bloke that would carry a quill and parchment around,” Sirius said.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Remus laughed a little. “Why do you need them?”

“Need to write a letter.”

“Now?”

“Sort of a family emergency. I need to send it tonight.” _The sooner, the better_ , Sirius thought. His mother would already know. She would have sorted out a way to torture him from afar. He needed a plan, needed someone on his side, after tonight, who knew of the horrors the Blacks can inflict when someone’s stupid enough to cross them.

Andromeda would help. Andromeda would understand. Andromeda would have a plan.

Remus gave him a long, searching look. “It can’t wait for the morning?”

Sirius bit his lip and shook his head, trying to keep a lid on his desperation. Remus didn’t need to see that.

Sirius had a sneaking suspicion that Remus saw it anyway. Remus reached into the pocket of his robe. “I have a napkin from King’s Cross and a ballpoint. Will that work?”

The napkin was a little crumpled, but otherwise clean enough. Sirius, however, had never seen a ballpoint before and had no clue what to do with one. He snatched both out of Remus’s hand, expertly avoiding contact, then held the ballpoint up to his face to examine it.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Sirius asked, eyeing Remus around the ballpoint.

Remus snorted a bit. “You write with it.”

“Oh,” Sirius said, considering it. “You haven’t got any ink, then, do you?”

“There’s ink in pen already, Sirius.”

“Really?”

“Try writing on your hand if you don’t believe me.”

Sirius eyed him, but took the cap off the ballpoint and scribbled all over his left hand. He grinned, then held up his work for Remus to see. “Wicked,” he said, eyes wide. “Now which way was the owlery again?” Then, mostly to himself, he muttered, “Someone needs to make a bloody map of this place.”

“What? Sirius, you can’t just wander off.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll get lost.”

“No, I won’t.” Well, he didn’t _think_ he would. Remus, however, gave him a look. Sirius rolled his eyes and conceded. “Fine. I’ll ask one of the portraits if I get lost.”

“You’ll miss curfew,” Remus said. “Besides, Frank hasn’t given us the password yet.”

Sirius winked at him. “Then wait up for me.” Remus opened his mouth to protest, but Sirius beat him to it. “Please, Remus. This is really important.”

“Fine,” Remus said, after a long moment. “Frank said the owlery was in the west tower.”

“Thanks. Cover for me?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “I will.”

Without another word, Sirius slipped away. He jogged through the hallways, got turned around once, but the portrait of Flannigan O’Henry pointed him in the right direction again. The hallways were dark, so Sirius reached into his pocket for his wand, and muttered, _“Lumos.”_

His wand gave a burst of light and quickly flickered out. He tried again—and again—but wasn’t able to sustain the pale, blue light for more than a few seconds. Eventually, he gave up, put his wand back in his pocket. He waved his left hand and a flame danced above his palm. He kept his palm up, holding the flame in place as he climbed the stairs to the owlery. Right outside the door, there was a torch, to which he quickly transferred the flame.

Sirius took out the crumpled napkin—cleaned and flattened it with a flick of his wrist—and the ballpoint Remus had given him. He quickly scrawled a note.

 

_Andromeda,_

 

_Gryffindor, not Slytherin._

_What the bloody hell am I supposed to do now?_

 

_Sirius_

 

He pocketed Remus’s ballpoint. Then, he found an owl that looked decently clever and fast, gave it a treat to further encourage it, and sent it on its way. Sirius prayed Andromeda would get the owl tonight. He needed to hear from her. He needed to know he still had an ally who shared his blood.

When he returned to the north tower, Frank Longbottom was waiting for him. Sirius frowned. He still had ten minutes until curfew and _Remus_ , not Frank, had promised to wait for him.

“Where’s—” Sirius started.

“You’re friend?” Frank said, raising a rather condescending eyebrow. “I sent him inside. He listened, though under protest, if it makes you feel better.”

Sirius shrugged. It did, actually, make him feel better, that Remus had at least valiantly tried to keep his word.

Frank Longbottom didn’t look too happy. Sure, he’d been the first one to welcome Sirius to Gryffindor, but as Frank’s scowl deepened, Sirius got the distinct impression that the welcome he’d received had just been an act to impress the professors.

“What are you doing, Sirius?” Frank said, crossing his arms.

Sirius didn’t particularly want to tell a prefect that he was writing to family on his first night away from home—especially with Frank now looking at him like that, like James Potter had earlier, after Slughorn gave him detention. It was the kind of look that said, _You’re a Black and you’ll stab me in the back the second I give you the chance._

Sirius fucking hated it when people looked at him like that.

“Exploring,” Sirius bit out, trying to keep his blood from boiling. He couldn’t afford to lose his temper, or even let slip that Frank’s attitude was getting to him. He had enough enemies inside Gryffindor already.

“Exploring,” Frank repeated, with a frown. “It’s almost curfew.”

“ _Almost,_ being the operative word in that sentence,” Sirius shot back. “I made it back. What’s the problem?”

“You don’t know the password, for one,” Frank said. “How were you planning on getting in?”

Sirius glanced behind Frank at the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was in the process of examining her cuticles, seemingly bored, but Sirius knew she was keeping an eye on their exchange.

Sirius flashed a smirk at Frank. “I figured I’d flirt my way in.”

The Fat Lady giggled.

Frank’s frown deepened. “Listen to me, Sirius,” he said, his voice hard. “This is Gryffindor. Not Slytherin.”

“Gathered that, thanks,” Sirius muttered.

“That means,” Frank said, glaring at him, “that you don’t get to get away with shit because of your name. The Black heir won’t get any privileges here.”

“Didn’t think I would,” Sirius said, indignant. Who the hell was Frank Longbottom to judge Sirius by his name and his family? It wasn’t fucking fair. “Look, did I break any rules, or not? I didn’t exactly stay for the end of the speech.”

“You didn’t, but—”

“Then let’s go inside, shall we?” Sirius said, glaring right back at Frank. “We’ve got classes tomorrow and I’ve had a long day. What’s the password, then?”

Frank looked like he had half a mind not to give the password to Sirius, but, after a minute, he muttered, “Dragon bones.”

The Fat Lady’s portrait swung open and Frank and Sirius stepped inside.

Really, Sirius should have braced himself for the ostentatious red-and-gold-strewn common room, but, as it was, it came as something of a shock. The Gryffindor common room was nothing like how his cousins described Slytherin’s. Instead of gray, cold, and dreary, Gryffindor’s common room was warm and inviting, and not just because of the hearth at the center of the room. Students lurked around the room, chatting with friends and telling stories of pleasant summer holidays.

“You best get to bed, then, if you’re so tired,” Frank said, and Sirius took it as _You’re not welcome here, Black_. “Up the stairs, to your left.”

Sirius climbed the stairs.

A pillow smacked him in the face the second he opened the door to the first year dormitory.

All the laughter in the room stopped.

James and Peter, who seem to be responsible for the pillow fight, froze and stared at Sirius. Remus was on his bed, pretending to read a book, but Sirius saw him throw a glance in his direction when the door opened.

“Where were you, then?” James demanded. “Off to get your good night kisses from your friends in Slytherin?”

“I don’t have any friends in Slytherin.”

“Seems like you do, seeing as I got detention and you didn’t,” James shot back. “Bet you gave them the password and everything. Should we expect everything in here to be green in the morning?”

“I didn’t—”

“Bet they love it that they have a man on the inside, now, huh?”

Something inside his brain snapped. “I’m not a fucking _spy_ , James!” Sirius shouted. “I hate Narcissa and Malfoy just as much as you do, except you have the great fucking privilege of not being related to them. They’re so fucking full of it and they were torturing that little tattling shit for no other reason than the fact he was in their way! I’m not like them! I was going to hex them, long before you showed up, except my curse wouldn’t have backfired!”

“Fine!” James shouted, right back at him. “Then why didn’t you get detention right along with me?!”

“Because I’m the fucking Black heir!”

James stalked towards him, and Sirius raised the pillow that had smacked him in the face between them, in an effort to keep James from either shoving or punching him.

“That’s _right_ ,” James hissed. “You got away with it because of your name. You’re beautiful, fucking pure-blood name, that has even Slughorn running after you, just fucking begging to kiss the ground you walk on. You’re better than us, isn’t that right? Better than a fucking blood traitor and a half-blood like Remus?”

Sirius cast a frantic glance at Remus. He didn’t think that way, he didn’t want Remus to think he did.“No, James, I—”

James yanked the pillow away from Sirius and shoved him up against the door, pinning him there.

Sirius cried out in pain. Every point of contact, every inch of his skin burned where James was touching him. Razor blades seemed to carve their way across his skin, right down to the bone, and James kept knocking against the bruises on his ribs.

Goddamnit, Sirius couldn’t help the tears that suddenly filled his vision.

“You don’t fucking belong here, _Black._ A Gryffindor would never be so cowardly that he hides behind his goddamned name!”

“James, enough, already,” Sirius heard Remus say, from his bed.

James Potter did not back down.

“ENOUGH!”

Suddenly, James was pulled off him and more or less thrown across the room. James landed on his arse and looked up at Remus Lupin in amazement.

Sirius slumped to the ground, unable to suppress a sob. He buried his face in his hands. His whole fucking body hurt and now James was going to see him cry.

“Can’t you see he’s had enough?” Remus asked James, his voice quieter now, more threatening. Remus half-turned back to Sirius. “Can you stand up on your own?”

Remus looked like all he wanted to do was reach out a hand and pull Sirius to his feet.

Sirius scrubbed a hand over his face, praying it hid the tears, and managed to nod. He pressed his back against the door— _oh, fuck, his ribs_ —and somehow clawed his way to his feet, his breaths coming out in short, aborted gasps.

Without looking at any of them, Sirius crossed the room to the bed with his trunk underneath it, directly on the other side of Remus’s. He flopped down on the mattress, then flicked his wrist to close the hangings. He pulled out his wand and whispered, “ _Silencio.”_

The spell didn’t completely work—he could still hear James and Remus, now arguing in hushed voices—but Sirius didn’t particularly care. He let out a full-body sob, clutched his ribs, and curled in on himself.

Sirius allowed himself to cry until the voices outside his curtains faded to nothing.

Rolling onto his back, Sirius felt the tears track down his face.

In his gut, Sirius knew he was well and truly fucked. There’d be a Howler waiting for him, tomorrow morning, one laced with some sort of nasty curse, if his mother had anything to say about it. She was sure to employ the help of Malfoy and Narcissa in order to make Sirius’s life in Gryffindor a living hell and he knew she kept at least a few of the Hogwarts professors well within her spheres of influence. He’d have his work cut out for him, just trying to stay afloat, and that’s only considering what his mother could do to him from afar.

Sirius felt his stomach turn over and thought for a second that he might throw up. There was no telling what sort of punishments Walburga Black would devise for him for when he returned to Grimmauld Place at Christmas.She could be rather creative in her punishments and there was no doubt in Sirius’s mind that his mother would be keeping a detailed and comprehensive list of all his sins against the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He’d pulled a prank with a known blood-traitor—one his mother specifically forbade him to associate with—against his cousin and her betrothed. The prank itself, though harmless, was far beneath the status for the Black heir and, more importantly, thoroughly embarrassed both Narcissa and Malfoy. To make matters worse, he accidentally befriended a half-blood boy and, at least in the eyes of his mother, furthered his association with one James Potter.

Then, worst of all, Sirius Black had gone and got himself sorted into Gryffindor. The house made for blood traitors and Mudbloods. He’d disgraced both his name and his station and brought shame to anyone who calls themselves a Black. Not only was he destined to be hated by his own kind, but James Potter seemed rather determined to make Sirius’s life in Gryffindor as miserable as possible.

He’d thought anything was better than Slytherin. He’d wanted so desperately to believe the Hat when it had told him he was brave. That he could be brave. That he was one of the bravest people ever placed in Gryffindor.

 _Lionheart_ , the Hat had called him.

Sirius knew it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. His wand was dying and there was darkness in his every crevice of his soul. Maybe it’d taken Slughorn’s detention for James to see it, but James was fucking right.

Sirius Black didn’t belong in Gryffindor.

Sirius clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle another sob. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t pretend to be something he’s not, he couldn’t prove everyone wrong, he couldn’t win back James Potter’s friendship.

He wasn’t brave enough to do this alone.

“Sirius?”

Sirius sat up, furiously wiping the tears from his face, thinking, for a second, that it was James coming to taunt him some more, but no. That was _Remus’s_ voice.

“Yeah?” he whispered.

“Can I…” Remus hesitated a bit. “Can I come in?”

Sirius considered this for a moment. What, in Merlin’s name, could Remus possibly have to say to him? James had laid it all out: Sirius was a pure-blood. He wasn’t meant to associate with half-bloods, no matter how much he suddenly wanted to.

“Sirius?”

Sirius surprised himself by tugging the hangings aside.

Remus gave him a small smile. His scars were even more pronounced in the pale lighting. “Scoot over,” he demanded. “All the way.”

Not knowing what else to do, Sirius obeyed, leaving a fair amount of room for Remus to lay down on his side, facing Sirius, without any risk of touching him.

“Are you alright?” Remus asked, settling his head on Sirius’s spare pillow.

Sirius wasn’t sure how to answer that. “No,” he said, eventually.

Remus looked him over, but he made no mention of the tear tracks on Sirius’s face. “Is it your family? Do you miss them?”

Sirius laughed, genuinely surprised at the question. “I don’t think it’s ever occurred to me that I should miss them. Regulus, sure, but not the rest of them.”

“Is Regulus your brother?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, his voice soft. “He’ll start here next year. We’re only a year apart.”

“You’re close, then?”

Sirius gave him a wry smile. “We had to be. There’s no surviving that place on your own.”

Remus’s eyes widened and Sirius watched the comprehension wash over his face.

“That’s just the way it is with my family,” Sirius said, softly.

He looked over at Remus. His eyes glowed amber in the darkness, his scars cast silver shadows across his face. It was mesmerizing, really, Remus Lupin’s face in the darkness. Sirius suddenly felt that he had absolutely no right to be looking at it. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” Sirius said, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

Sirius turned on his back, staring at the ceiling instead of Remus’s eyes. “Defend me,” he whispered. “Be my friend. You don’t have to.”

Sirius could feel Remus staring at him. “I know,” Remus said, eventually, but he didn’t get up to leave.

Sirius tried to smile, tried to believe that he was allowed to have this, just this one thing: friendship with Remus Lupin. “But, so you know, even if we’re not friends, I’m keeping that ballpoint you gave me. It’s bloody wicked, that thing.”

Remus laughed, then flopped on his back, mirroring Sirius’s position and still keeping a distance between them. “You can keep it. I made sure to bring a whole pack of them. I’m not particularly fond of quills.” He paused for a second, then smirked. “Muggles make ballpoints in a whole bunch of different colors. I’ll get you some colorful ones for Christmas.”

Remus said it so casually, like it’ll all be okay, like they’ll still be talking come Christmas. Sirius shot him a look. “What should I get you, then?”

Remus shrugged. “I like chocolate. A lot, actually. Still can’t believe you don’t.”

“Can’t help it, mate. I’m allergic. But I guess I’ll buy you a shit-ton of chocolates, then.”

“Thanks.”

They were quiet for awhile, just lying awake, taking comfort in each other’s presence. Sirius, despite that darkness currently gnawing away at his insides, found he was enjoying himself, even if nothing was said, because—Merlin knows why—Remus chose to spend time with him. Remus chose to check on him, to make sure he was okay.

No one but Regulus had ever bothered to ask after Sirius Black.

“Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

Remus turned his head a little to look at him. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

Remus smirked. “I asked the Hat to put me in Gryffindor. It wanted to put me in Ravenclaw.”

Sirius’s eyes went wide and he sat up. “What? Why?”

“Well, actually, it said I could be suited for either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. Given the choice, I asked the Hat to put me in Gryffindor.”

“But why would you—”

Remus gave him a look that said, _Shut up, you moron._ “I didn’t particularly want to leave you alone with James, mad as he is. I thought you might need a friend.”

Sirius opened and closed his mouth. He was having a bit of trouble wrapping his mind around this new development. “You chose Gryffindor… for me?”

Remus shrugged. “I suppose so. If the hat put you in Slytherin, I probably just would have gone with Ravenclaw. We wouldn’t have been outright rivals that way, at least.”

Sirius stared at him. He’d thought the same thing, before the Sorting. The only way him and Remus could even remain cordial if Sirius had been sorted into Slytherin was if Remus was likewise sorted into Ravenclaw. Sirius, of course, had thought that far ahead. He hadn’t dared hope that Remus would too.

Remus winked at him. “Plus, I think I’m the only one who’s figured out your secret.”

Sirius felt his stomach do a backflip. _Secret?_ He had a lot of secrets, none of which he particularly cared for Remus Lupin to know. If Remus knew, well. If Remus knew, he wouldn’t have asked the Hat for Gryffindor. “Secret?” Sirius sputtered. “What—”

“You don’t like to be touched.”

On instinct, Sirius scooted a little farther away, should Remus decide he wanted to test his theory. “I, um, that’s not—”

“More specifically,” Remus continued, making no move to touch Sirius whatsoever, “it hurts you when someone else touches you.”

“Er, I—”

“Did I get all that right?”

Sirius froze for a second, then whispered, “Yes.”

Remus shifted a little, to face him better. “Am I allowed to ask why it hurts when someone touches you?”

Sirius considered it. He’d have to explain the tattoo, which would mean he’d have to explain his family’s pure-blood fanaticism, which Remus could take the wrong way, especially considering he’s a half-blood. Sirius wasn’t prepared to give away that secret. Not yet, no matter what Andromeda had said in her letter.

An idea struck him and Sirius smirked. “Am I allowed to ask you where you really got your scars?”

Remus appeared rather startled by the question. “I fell out of a tree,” he said, a bit too quickly.

Sirius flopped back down, onto his back. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No,” Sirius repeated. He waved a finger at Remus’s face, tracing the scars without touching them. “If you fell out of a tree, there’d be scratches everywhere. These… There’s almost a pattern to them. They’re too straight, too deep to possibly be from tree branches. So, no. You didn’t fall out of a tree. Or, well, maybe you did, but that isn’t how you got the scars on your face. So what…”

He trailed off, when he saw the terror flash across Remus’s eyes.

Remus bowed his head. He suddenly looked like he was on the verge of tears.

“Remus, I’m sorry,” Sirius said, wanting to comfort him, but not knowing how. He couldn’t _touch_ him, goddamnit, not even to comfort him. “I didn’t mean to—”

Bright amber eyes snapped up to meet his own. “I can’t tell you, Sirius.”

Sirius leaned in, as close as he dared. “Why not?” he whispered.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut. “Because it’s a horrible secret, the very worst kind there is. Because if I tell you, then you won’t ever look at me again.”

“Remus, look at me,” Sirius said, deliberately. After a moment, Remus opened his eyes. “I know a thing or two about secrets, okay? Even dark and horrible ones. I expect we understand each other, then, about why we keep those kinds of secrets.”

Remus held his gaze for a long moment. “Yes, I suppose we do.”

They were silent for a moment, acknowledging the weight of each other’s nightmares.

Then, Sirius grinned, wide and mischievous. “I have an idea.”

Remus laughed a little. “Sounds dangerous. Tell me.”

“When we get out of Hogwarts,” Sirius said, a smile dancing on his lips, “we’ll tell each other all our secrets, no matter how horrible they are. We’ll be brave by then, both of us proper Gryffindors. Secrets won’t matter anymore.”

Remus looked away. “If we’re still friends, that is.”

A jolt of insecurity shot through Sirius and he stiffened. Did Remus not _want_ to be friends? He’d never properly asked, didn’t think he had to, but still. “What do you mean?” Sirius asked, not caring if his voice was a bit higher than normal. “Why wouldn’t we still be friends?”

Remus shrugged. “Dunno. People change. You might change your mind about me.”

Sirius gaped at him, because _no fucking way_. “I’m not going to get bored of you, Remus,” he said, because there was no way in hell he ever would. “We’re mates. That’s that.”

Letting out a breath, Remus said, “Okay, then. When we get out of Hogwarts, and if we’re still friends, we’ll get pissed and tell each other all of our horrible secrets because we’ll be brave and it won’t matter. But, until such time, we leave the secrets alone.”

Sirius, who had been nodding along rather enthusiastically, stopped.

“Sirius?”

“Hypothetically,” Sirius started, taking his time with pronouncing the word, “if in the mean time, say I were to find out a secret of yours—how you got your scars, for instance—it’d be fair game, right? I’d have discovered it all on my own. It wouldn’t be a secret anymore. It’d only be fair, them, for you to tell me if I guessed it right.”

Remus paused, and took a long moment to consider this. “Alright,” he said. “But same goes for you. If I find out about your no touching thing, then, horrible secret or no, you tell me if I’m correct.”

“Fair enough,” Sirius said, fairly certain that even if that secret slipped, he’d be able to keep the rest under lock and key. He looked Remus over, suddenly wanting to trace the pale lines on his face. “I’m never going to stop trying to figure you out, Remus Lupin.”

Remus smiled. “Same to you, Sirius Black.”

“Will you stay here tonight?” Sirius whispered. “I mean, if you want to. You don’t have to.”

“What about your—?” Remus gestured to the space between them. “I don’t want to roll over on you in the middle of the night.”

Sirius reached behind him and grabbed an extra pillow. He maneuvered it between them. There was just enough room on the bed for them to fit comfortably, even with the pillow separating them.

“That okay?” Sirius asked.

“Works for me,” Remus replied.

Sirius was still in his robes, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to move right now and he didn’t think it was worth getting up from this bed. “Goodnight, Remus,” he whispered. “And thanks. For everything.”

Remus gave him a sleepy smile and closed his eyes. “Night, Sirius.”


	3. Regarding Blood Traitors

**SEPTEMBER 2, 1971**

 

Sirius woke early, before sunrise from the looks of it, but that was hardly unusual. He’d always been an early riser. If he actually thought about it, he’d probably say it had something to do with finding sanctuary in the early hours of the morning. Before sunrise, all the responsibilities that rested on the shoulders of the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black seemed to fade into nothing.

Next to him, separated by a pillow, Remus Lupin snored softly. His lips parted, the top lip nicked by a tiny scar, and his eyes fluttered in a dream. The scars that lined his face seemed paler, too, silvery amongst the splattering of Remus’s constellation of freckles. It was mesmerizing, really, Remus’s face. More so than anything Sirius had yet seen at Hogwarts.

Despite himself, despite knowing the pain it would cause him, Sirius suddenly found himself wanting to _touch_ , to trace the scars with his fingers, and perhaps once more beg Remus to tell him where they came from.

Shaking his head, mostly to clear it, Sirius stretched and stood, praying Remus wouldn’t wake up. Remus didn’t stir, so Sirius grabbed fresh clothes and made his way to the showers.

There were seven shower stalls flanking one wall, paralleled by seven toilet stalls on the opposite wall. Against the back wall, seven sinks and mirrors, as well as a closet full of towels. Sirius walked straight to the back of the room and pulled off his robes from yesterday. They were creased and wrinkled from sleeping in them, but they ironed out with a simple flick of his wrist. He unbuttoned his shirt and then stopped, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

Absently, Sirius traced the _Toujours Pur_ , in his mother’s handwriting, right above his heart.

He’d cried, when his mother carved the tattoo into his chest with her wand and the blood spell. It hadn’t even hurt, but he’d cried anyway.

Eight years old, and he’d been marked for House Black forever.

Even back then, a part of him raged against the fate his parents had already written for him.

Sirius couldn’t allow anyone in Gryffindor to see the tattoo. James Potter would know what it meant immediately. Remus, too, on a basic level. Remus spoke French, so although he probably wouldn’t understand all the magical implications, a child branded with “ _Always pure”_  wasn't exactly inspiring.

If he saw the tattoo, Remus would understand, once and for all, that Sirius was cursed and will remain cursed, no matter how much Remus might not want to believe it.

Sirius almost sobbed, but this time, he didn’t allow himself to cry. He’d cried enough.

He was Gryffindor.

Now, he had to face the consequences, cursed or not.

When Sirius came back into the dormitory, fully dressed, he stubbed his toe on the poster of his bed. “Salazar’s— _fuck!”_

On his bed, Remus jolted upright. Bleary and confused amber eyes looked about the room, almost on the verge of panic, until they landed on Sirius. His curly hair stuck out in all directions and there was an imprint of Sirius’s pillow on Remus’s cheek, right between his scars.

Remus blinked a few times. Then, seeming to realize where he was, Remus let out a moan. “Wha’ time is it?”

Sirius cast a look at the other beds, praying James and Peter were sleeping in a bit more. Peter, for his part, was curled in the fetal position, snoring loudly, while the hangings on James’s bed remained resolutely shut.

“It’s about six thirty,” Sirius said, glancing at the window. The sky was a pale grey and sun was just starting to think about rising. He’d been up for almost an hour already. “Breakfast won’t start until seven.”

“Merlin, Sirius, why are you up so early?” Remus moaned into his pillow.

Sirius just shrugged and opened his trunk. “Figured I’d get a head-start on the day. Nip down to breakfast to see if there’s any letters waiting.”

Plus, the fewer people heard the Howler his mother would undoubtedly send, the better. He didn’t need to be the talk of the school on his first day. If he was going to be the subject of gossip at Hogwarts, he was damn well going to do it on his own terms.

Remus let out another long moan and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He tried to stretch, but was interrupted by an enormous yawn.

Sirius gave him a look. “You can go back to bed, if you want.”

“No,” Remus said, stifling the tail-end of his yawn. “I’m up. Lemme get dressed and I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to—”

Remus glared at him. There was still crust in the corners of his eyes, but his gaze was as sharp as ever. “I’m coming, Sirius.”

 _Damn_ , Sirius thought. He had hoped to keep the wrath of Walburga Black under wraps for more than a day. He could only hope that Remus would keep it to himself and not tell James and Peter.

“Alright,” Sirius said, with a wave of his hand.

He reached into his trunk and pulled out the Slytherin scarf and tie his mother had selected at Madam Malkin’s. He set both of them on the bed next to Remus.

Remus glanced between the scarf and tie and Sirius. “Bold fashion choice,” he said. “Though, I’m not sure the color suits you.”

Sirius smirked. “My thoughts exactly.”

He waved his hands, his magic once again dancing between his fingers, and suddenly, the silver and green melted into gold and crimson.

“Impressive,” Remus said, stifling another yawn. “How long will that last?”

“Not sure,” Sirius said. “Transfiguring one color to another is pretty simple, really, but I’ve always been forced to reverse the spell before it wears off.”

Remus’s eyes began to droop a bit as Sirius talked, but scrubbed a hand over his face and stood. He stumbled a bit, but righted himself. “Right, then.” He gave another look at Sirius’s scarf and tie. “Best not let them turn back to green. Green doesn’t seem to be a popular color around here.”

Sirius huffed. “Understatement.”

He wrapped the long, gold and crimson scarf around his neck all the same.

 

                                                                                                    

 

The Great Hall was almost empty when Remus and Sirius walked in, save for a few older Ravenclaws, who all had their noses buried in books. Breakfast still didn’t start for another ten minutes and the charmed ceiling still showed the early moments of sunrise.

Next to him, Remus yawned, his scars crinkling all across his face as he did so. Remus stretched his arms above his head and cracked his neck, following Sirius to the end of the Gryffindor table. Remus plopped down across from him and immediately laid his head on the table. Two seconds later, Sirius swore he heard a snore.

“You’re really not a morning person, are you?” he asked.

Remus blinked up at him and lifted his head to rest on his folded arms. “No,” he said, rather grumpily. “I’d prefer it if six o’clock in the morning would remain a theoretical concept to me. But you—” He gave Sirius a stern look. “—You’re quite… _chipper_.”

Sirius laughed. “Most nights, _sleep_ is a theoretical concept to me,” he said, hiding a grimace. He was used to nightmares and insomnia. “Mornings are a welcome interruption.”

Remus frowned. “You slept fine last night.”

Sirius shrugged. Honestly, he was rather confused by that fact, too, given everything that had happened the day before. “Some nights are better, I guess.” He risked a glance directly into Remus’s eyes. “Thanks for staying, by the way.”

“You’d do the same if I were hurting,” Remus said, through a yawn, then stopped, his brain seeming to register what he’d said. “I mean—Christ.”

Sirius was rather taken aback. How could Remus have sounded so sure about that? How could he assume that Sirius was good enough, decent enough, to stop and—

“I would,” he said, before he could think too much more. “Of course I would, Remus. I mean, you don’t know me from Adam, but I’m your friend, so yes. I’d stay with you if you’re hurt.”

He meant it. Every goddamned word, he meant it, though he prayed he’d never have to see Remus hurt. A boy like Remus didn’t deserve to be hurt. Clearly, from the scars on his face, he’d suffered enough as is.

Remus gave him a sad smile, and if Sirius looked closely, he’d swear he saw tears glistening in those amber eyes. “Thanks,” he said, his voice quiet. He sat up a little straighter. “Looks like you’re Gryffindor after all.”

 _Merlin_ , that terrified him.

As the clocks struck seven, more students trickled in, but, much to Sirius’s relief, James and Peter were not yet among them. Lily Evans, however, with her hair messy and eyes a bit bloodshot, stormed in and sat down, right next to Remus, keeping her back to the rest of the Hall.

“Morning,” Remus muttered.

Lily ignored him and, instead, glared at Sirius.

Sirius, for his part, was a bit thrown by the intensity of those green eyes. “Um, hi,” he said, while Lily continued to attempt to bore a hole through his skull. “Can I… help you?” he asked, figuring it was best to shoot for decorum.

“I know you were there, too,” Lily snapped. “Severus told me.”

“I—what?”

“On the train,” she clarified. A lock of red hair fell in her face and Lily quickly blew it out of the way. “Severus said you were with James Potter, tormenting the Slytherins, but Malfoy said you weren’t involved in the slightest. But you _were_. Severus said you were. You and James _hurt_ him and—”

“Hey!” Sirius snapped, shifting in his seat and leaning over the table a bit. “Malfoy and Cissa were tormenting this… this _Snivellus—”_

 _“_ Severus _.”_

Sirius huffed. “Fine. _Severus._ Malfoy and my horrid cousin shoved him to the floor and Malfoy kicked him, just because he was in their way. James hexed Malfoy for it—made his clothes disappear, quite brilliantly, if I may say so, never seen such a pale twat—”

“Sirius,” Remus hissed. “Make your point.”

“Right,” Sirius said. “Then Cissa tried to stun James, he tried to block it, and it backfired a bit and hit _Severus_.”

Lily’s face scrunched up. “But—”

“Look,” Sirius cut her off. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t James Potter’s fault. It was those damn Slytherins. They started it, not us.”

“That’s not what Severus told me,” Lily said.

“Then he lied!” Sirius shot back. “Or he told you exactly what Malfoy told him to say. Either way, it wasn’t our fault!”

“Severus is my _friend!_ ” Lily snapped. “He wouldn’t lie to me. Besides, even in your own story, James Potter threw the first hex. _You_ started it.”

“Yes, fine. We started it because Malfoy was torturing Snivellus!”

“ _Severus_!”

“We were trying to help.”

“Potter knocked him unconscious!”

“By accident!”

“Then you turned half the train to ice!”

“Okay, well, that wasn’t so much of an accident as it was a poorly conceived escape plan, I’ll cop to that, but the rest wasn’t our fault.”

Lily was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward, a scowl on her face. “If you admit to turning the train to ice, then you were _involved_. So why is James Potter in trouble and you’re not?”

Sirius looked away. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” he muttered.

Lily, however, seemed to already have an answer. “I don’t care what the reason is or what Malfoy says, _you_ don’t get to get away with it just because of your name, _Black_. Whatever you do, just _make it right_ , you arrogant _prat_.”

With that, Lily stood and marched off to the other end of the table.

As she stood, food materialized in ornate serving dishes between Sirius and Remus. Remus, not hesitating for a second, reached for the tea and poured himself a cup, before pouring a coup for Sirius.

Sirius huffed and accepted the tea, taking a sip of it without bothering with cream or sugar. “Make it right, she says,” he muttered. “Merlin’s beard, she says it like it’s that easy.”

Remus was quiet for a moment, before he said, “Maybe it is easy”

Sirius looked him over. “It really wasn’t our fault, Remus. We didn’t mean to take out her friend.”

“I believe you,” Remus said. “I do, Sirius. Whatever you decide, I’ll still believe you.”

Just then, a swarm of owls flew in and Sirius’s felt his stomach sink. It was barely seven in the morning and Sirius was already emotionally exhausted. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to his mother’s Howler. In fact, he was half tempted to leave the hall, march back to the dormitories, draw the hangings on his bed, and not come out until next Christmas.

But he was Gryffindor. He was supposed to be brave.

The same brown owl he’d used last night swooped down and perched on Sirius’s shoulder, dropping three letters on the table in front of him. Much to his surprise, there were no red envelopes amongst them. Perhaps his mother hadn’t heard the news, after all? Sirius could only dare hope.

“What’s wrong?” Remus asked, seeing his expression.

“I was—um.” Sirius paused, feeling himself flush a bit. “I was sort of expecting a Howler.”

“A Howler?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “Big, red envelope that screams at you and explodes if you don’t open it. My mother’s quite fond of them.”

Remus looked a little confused. “And you thought she’d send you one for— _oh.”_

 _“_ Being sorted into Gryffindor? Yeah.”

Remus didn’t have anything else to say to that. He reached for a plate and scooped himself a large serving of bacon.

Sirius grabbed the first letter—Andromeda’s, by the handwriting, and _thank Merlin_ for that—and opened it.

 

_Siri,_

 

_Merlin! I thought I was the rebellious one in the family, what with my involvement with Feathers and all, but Gryffindor?! I do believe a proper congratulations is in order. Never much pegged you for a snake, anyway. You’ll do brilliant, Sirius._

_I know you must be terrified, given the circumstances, so if you want to meet me, I’d be happy to help you come with a strategy for coping with… everything. I’m staying a few days in Hogsmeade with Feathers, and will be up at Hagrid’s hut tomorrow around noon, for lunch. I’d be happy to meet with you, then, if you would like to discuss things further._

_I’ve got your back, Sirius. I always have. I’m ruddy proud of you, for sticking it to the Black family traditions like that._

 

_Hope to see you tomorrow,_

_Andromeda_

 

He read the letter through twice, rather surprised. _Never much pegged you for a snake, anyway._ Andromeda hadn’t thought he belonged in Slytherin, after all. It was just an accepted fact in his family and she’d gone along with it.

Sirius felt an odd sense of relief wash over him. Andromeda was the person who probably knew him best, after Regulus. If she was _proud_ of him, thought he belonged—if _Remus_ thought he belonged—well. Whatever his mother may or may not have to say about how he was sorted suddenly seemed to matter a lot less than it had immediately after his Sorting.

Remus continued to munch on his bacon. Sirius took another swig of his tea before tearing into the second letter. This time, he didn’t recognize the handwriting.

 

_Mr. Black,_

 

_I’m afraid I seem to have missed the opportunity to introduce myself last night after the Sorting, a slight for which I would like to offer my most sincere apology._

_I’ve known your parents for many, many years, as well as your aunt and uncle, and consider all four of them dear friends and close confidants. Your cousins, Bellatrix and Andromeda, were some of my finest students and, I’m sure, mentioned the mentorship I offered them on many occasions. I’m so glad to hear of Bellatrix’s engagement to Lestrange—another one of my favorites, dear lad—and could not be prouder of her accomplishments._

_It would be a great honor to get to know you as well, my boy, and I would like to cordially invite you to a small dinner gathering I’m having this Friday night, in my office. Your cousin, Narcissa, Lucius Malfoy, as well as another first year by the name of Michealo Avery will also be in attendance. I do hope to see you there as well._

 

_Best regards,_

_Professor Horace Slughorn_

 

Sirius grimaced. Immediately, after reading that, he knew why Andromeda hadn’t ever mentioned Slughorn, despite what Slughorn apparently chose to believe. Slughorn, it seemed, was quite interested in the connections offered by certain families.

Sirius didn’t particularly care to be collected on the basis of his name alone. Everyone, save for Remus, seemed to see him only as a Black, only as an heir to a long, pure-blood line: one with traditions and ideals, the least of which involved branding children at the age of eight.

The Hat had warned him about this, of course, and Sirius had known it even before he’d gone and gotten himself sorted into Gryffindor. Wizards both feared and revered the Black name. For some, like Slughorn, that reverence morphed into an opportunity for social advancement. For others, like James Potter, the Black name was synonymous with everything wrong with pure-blood families.

For Sirius, his goddamned name was the same as the fate already written for him. A fate he was certain he didn’t want.

The last letter, naturally, was unmarked. It didn’t even bear his name. He wondered, momentarily, if it had actually been intended for someone else, so he picked it up and—

Searing pain shot across his abdomen. He thought for a second that his ribs had snapped once more, but _no_. This felt different, more itching, oozing, burning—

Sirius let out a moan and bent over.

Remus’s eyes snapped away from his breakfast. “Sirius? What’s wrong?”

Remus reached for the letter.

“NO!” Sirius snatched it away, before Remus could be cursed as well.

Remus pulled his hand back. “What?”

“It’s—” He gestured to the letter in his hand. “It’s, ah. From my mother.” Sirius grit his teeth, holding back another moan of pain.

“Are you okay? I smell…” Remus snapped his mouth shut.

Had he been about to say _blood?_

“I’m fine,” Sirius managed.

Remus leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The letter’s cursed.”

It wasn’t a question.

For a second, Sirius considered lying. There were certain… consequences for letting his mother’s cruelty be widely known, but it would seem Remus had already deduced the truth.

Slowly, Sirius nodded. “Boils, I think. On my stomach.”

Remus’s nostrils flared. “We should get you to the hospital wing. We’ll say it was one of the Slytherins who cursed you. Madam Pomfrey will help and—”

“No, Remus.”

“What? Why not?”

“It’ll wear off.”

Really, he couldn’t risk this getting out. He was still half relieved that his mother hadn’t sent a Howler. He wasn’t about to go to the hospital wing when, underneath the boils, there were still purple bruises from his mother’s last punishment, let alone the tattoo that would forever brand him a fanatic. Sirius didn’t need that kind of scrutiny, not when he was supposed to be doing everything in his power to distance himself from every assumption other wizards had about people bearing his name.

The boils, at least, he could deal with on his own. The pain was a solitary experience, and if Remus hadn’t been here, then no one else would have had to know about it. It was the best possible scenario, though he wasn’t about to explain to Remus why he greatly preferred boils to a Howler.

Remus opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Sirius beat him to it. “I’m fine, Remus. I swear. Curses like this won’t last long after the source is destroyed. I’ll burn the letter, and I’ll be fine.”

Remus held his gaze, then nodded. “Are you going to read it first?”

Honestly, he hadn’t intended to, but with Remus looking at him like that, he supposed he’d better.

Sirius broke the seal. Two words stared back at him.

 

_BLOOD TRAITOR._

 

Sirius felt himself go pale.

 _Blood traitor_.

Sirius remembered what Regulus had said to Auclair—how he’d tormented Auclair first. The Blacks couldn’t even stand to be _touched_ by blood traitors.

Merlin, Regulus was going to hate him.

 _Blood traitor_ was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Even if his mother didn’t burn him off the tapestry for _this_ offense, she would eventually, down the road, for some other slight, for some other betrayal.

He knew exactly what his mother meant.

Sirius Black was no longer the heir.

He was the subject of a fate yet to be fulfilled.

Regulus was going to fucking _hate_ him.

He squeezed his eyes shut. His breath came out in short, rapid bursts and invisible fingers tightened around his heart.

“Sirius?” Remus prompted quietly.

Sirius opened his eyes and held his breath, staring right back into Remus’s amber eyes. He set the letter down on the table between them and watched Remus read the words.

“What’s it mean?” Remus asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “I mean, I have a pretty good idea—James said his whole family were blood traitors to yours—but…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to finish his question.

“A blood traitor is a pure-blood,” he said, his voice far more calm than he felt. Sirius took a deep breath and started again. “A blood traitor is a pure-blooded wizard, who’s either got some Muggle blood somewhere in his family tree, like the Potters, or one who willingly associates with Muggle-borns and half-bloods. Anyone who’s not strictly pure-blood, really. A blood traitor is someone who betrayed his name and his station.”

“Oh,” Remus said, looking down into his empty cup of tea.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sirius said, even though it _did. (_ Of course it did. Regulus was going to hate him, of course it fucking mattered.) “It doesn’t matter, Remus,” he said again, forcibly this time, as if the dichotomy of it all wasn’t eating him alive already. “They’re _wrong_. There’re ignorant and stupid for thinking that bloodlines matter like that. It should be about your _choices_ , not your parents.”

 _That_ , at least, he wanted to believe, more so, perhaps, than he’d ever wanted to believe anything.

Remus just nodded, slowly looking up again to meet Sirius’s eyes.

Sirius flicked his wrist and his mother’s letter burned up between them. The boils on his chest eased up, stopped oozing at least, though they didn’t disappear completely. He guessed he’d probably have to deal with them the rest of the day.

“So,” Remus said, snagging another slice of bacon. Sirius was grateful for the subject change. “Looks like we’ve got Transfiguration first, with McGonagall. Reckon you’ll be quite good at that.”

Sirius scoffed. “Just the wandless stuff. I need to practice more spells while using my wand.” His wand, as it was, was dying. It was a bit finicky, to say the least, and Sirius wasn’t entirely sure he trusted it not to backfire after every spell he cast.

They carried on a casual conversation, for the better part of an hour. Both Sirius and Remus were excited about Defense Against the Dark Arts (a subject to which Sirius’s parents were vehemently opposed) and both had opted to take an extra hour of Ancient Runes, on top of their five other classes. Neither had opted for Divination.

James and Peter strolled into the dining hall about fifteen minutes before the end of breakfast. James pointedly ignored Sirius and went instead to sit by Lily and the other first year girls. However, from what Sirius could tell, Lily snapped something at James and he and Peter retreated, once more forced to sit by Sirius and Remus.

Sirius promptly shut up and took great interest in his tea cup, not bothering to say anything to James or Peter for the remainder of breakfast.

 

                                                                                                    

 

McGonagall was not in the room when the first year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs trickled into the Transfiguration classroom. Sirius sat on the bench seat next to Remus.

James and Peter sat behind them. “Slytherins have Transfiguration tomorrow, Black,” James hissed.

Sirius flushed red and turned, but Remus reached out a hand. Seeing it, Sirius quickly jerked out of reach.

Remus sent him an apologetic look. “Sorry. I forgot,” he whispered. “But just ignore him. He’s just upset. He probably doesn’t mean it.”

Sirius wasn’t so sure about that, but took his seat and kept his back to James all the same.

A silver and black tabby cat jumped onto McGonagall’s desk and began licking its front paw.

Remus tilted his head, looked at the cat, curious, then leaned forward a bit. “No way,” he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Sirius didn’t get a chance to ask Remus what he was on about, before the cat on the desk began to grow and shift, its fur retracting and bones reshaping in one fluid movement, until Professor McGonagall stood before them.

Sirius felt his jaw drop. There’s not a whole lot of magic out there with which Sirius Black was unfamiliar—including varying degrees of Dark Magic—but he’d never seen anyone do _that_ before.

Amidst gasps of awe and reverence, the class applauded. McGonagall smiled graciously and gave a slight bow. “Welcome to Transfiguration,” she said. “Here, you will learn to change things from one form to another, not just in shape, but in essence, from the most basic—” She tapped an inkwell on her desk and it transformed into a hummingbird. “—to, should you desire and should you posses a great deal of skill, the most complicated transfiguration a witch or wizard can manage: that of an Animagus form.”

Sirius’s hand shot up.

McGonagall seemed rather surprised, as if she was not used to first years interrupting her opening lectures. “Yes, what is it, Mr. Black?” she said curtly.

“How do you become an Animagus, Professor?” he asked.

“Well,” McGonagall said. “That is magic far beyond a first year, I’m sure. A majority of adult witches and wizards are not capable of performing the tasks required for Animagus transformation, and those that pursue the change spend many years in rigorous study before they earn their license. You need not worry about this for many years, Mr. Black.” She turned her attention back to the entire class. “Now, this year in Transfiguration—”

“Yes, but—” Sirius said, before he could stop himself.

McGonagall glared at him. “Do you have something you’d like to contribute, Mr. Black?”

“How do you actually _become_ an Animagus?”

“As I said,” McGonagall began, her patience clearly reaching its limit. “It takes many years of study for—”

“Yes, but _how_ do you do it?”

McGonagall glared at him.

“Surely you’d know, Professor,” Sirius said. “Seeing as you are an Animagus, after all.”

McGonagall’s lips formed a thin line. “Mr. Black,” she said, her voice calm and measured, “if you would like to teach this class, by all means, continue with your interruption.”

Sirius’s face scrunched up, offended. “But I was just—”

“ _Otherwise_ ,” McGonagall snapped, “I, for one, will not tolerate this kind of disrespect in my classroom.”

“It was a _question_ ,” Sirius huffed.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” McGonagall said. “Between you and Mr. Potter, I think this is the first time in recent memory Gryffindor has started the term with negative points. Another word out of you before you leave this classroom, save for the spell we shall be learning today, Mr. Black, and it’ll be detention.”

Sirius glared at her, but swallowed his protests. He knew better than to contradict an authority figure, especially in front of a group of people. If she forbade him from speaking, then fine. It’s not like he expected her lesson to be particularly difficult anyway. He could shut up for an hour.

Remus gave him a sympathetic shrug, but that was about it. Sirius folded his hands on his desk and put his head down, his eyes fixed on McGonagall, and the tails of his scarf laying across his back.

“Now,” McGonagall said, righting herself. “Transfiguration is a dangerous, complex form of magic, and I will not tolerate misuse of magic or—” She glanced at Sirius. “—insubordination in my classroom. Am I understood?”

The class nodded. A few students voiced their assent. Sirius scowled.

“I believe in a practical approach when teaching magic, so today you’ll be transfiguring a thistle into a rose. It is a relatively simple transfiguration, given that the original form and the intended form are both plants, but it does require a certain amount of finesse. You will be graded on both your technique and the final result. You’ll find the spell and the wand motion on page nineteen of your textbooks. Begin,” McGonagall said. She flicked her wand at a vase full of ugly, purple thistles, and they floated out and landed on the desks, one per student.

Sirius and Remus both fished their transfiguration textbooks out of their bags. Remus’s copy was clearly second-hand and was very nearly falling apart. When Remus thumbed to page nineteen, it appeared to have been ripped out. Without really thinking about it, Sirius shoved his brand new book towards Remus, already opened to the page.

Remus flushed red. “No, you don’t have to—”

Sirius glared at him. Then, without looking from Remus’s eyes, he flicked his wrist at his thistle and it levitated off his desk, immediately transforming into a beautiful red rose.

Remus’s eyes went wide.

McGonagall, on the other hand, was not amused. “With your _wand_ , Mr. Black!” she shouted. She then flicked her wand and his rose turned right back into a thistle and landed with a _plop_ on his desk. “I will not have you _showing off_ in my classroom!”

Sirius sneered at her, but took out his wand. It was so bloody _unfair,_ the way she was treating him. He hadn’t done anything, save for ask a question to which he genuinely wanted to know the answer.

Andromeda always said that the teachers played favorites, even though, strictly speaking, they weren’t supposed to, and she’d repeatedly told him that, as Head of Gryffindor House, McGonagall was no exception. Clearly, however, she did not favor _him_.

Sirius would put Galleons on the fact that McGonagall thought the Hat had made a mistake, that like James Potter, she clearly thought that all Blacks belonged in Slytherin.

He couldn’t help but hate her a little bit for it.

Sirius glared at the thistle in front of him, then looked at his wand. He knew that no matter how closely he mimicked the movement described in the textbook, whatever he managed to conjure with his wand wouldn’t look nearly as flawless as the rose he’d made without it. His wand had a mind of its own, after all, and had never strictly obeyed him since he’d cast the Cruciatus curse.

He leaned a little closer to Remus to glance at the textbook, then pretended to practice the wand movement. He kept an eye on McGonagall, waiting for her to turn her back so he could cast the spell without a wand once more, but she seemed to be onto him and always kept one eye on him in return. At this rate, there was almost no way to cast the wandless spell without her noticing.

Next to him, Remus sat up straight and practiced the wand movement. When he kept getting it wrong, Sirius tapped the desk to get his attention, then demonstrated proper form. A few more tries, Remus had it down, and muttered the spell, pointing his wand at the thistle. The thistle grew petals, faded to red, and morphed into a perfect rose.

“Well done, Mr. Lupin!” McGonagall exclaimed. “Ten points to Gryffindor, for being the first to successfully complete the transfiguration.”

McGonagall seemed proud, as she scrutinized Remus’s rose and held it out for the rest of the class to see.

Remus, on the other hand, seemed quite embarrassed. He sent an apologetic look at Sirius and slouched a little in his seat.

Ten minutes to the end of the lesson, most of the other students had managed to transform their thistles into roses, with the exception of Peter, who had accidentally set his thistle on fire, thus earning a stern lecture from McGonagall and zero points.

Sirius, though, had yet to even attempt the spell with his wand. He knew he could do it, at least in theory, perfectly, but the unpredictable temperament of his wand was another matter entirely. He waited until he was the only student left, then, with McGonagall’s full attention on him, Sirius flicked his wand at his thistle and muttered the spell.

The thistle turned into a rose alright, but it was black and shriveled and _dead._

Sirius flushed bright red, whether in embarrassment or anger at the whole situation, he wasn’t quite sure.

McGonagall strolled over and picked up the dead rose. She frowned. “Full marks for technique, Mr. Black. Zero for the end result.”

He rolled his eyes. Honestly, it was the best he could have hoped for.

McGonagall turned her attention back to the class. “For next class, I want a two foot essay on the varying techniques of transfiguring the essences of objects that have similar forms to begin with. Good day.” The bell rang and she disappeared into her office at the back of the classroom.

Sirius sighed. They had History of Magic next, followed by lunch. In all honesty, he was a bit relieved. He needed a bit of reprieve from everyone and everything right now. He pulled his textbook back from Remus’s side of the desk and tucked it into his bag.

Next to him, Remus stood and drew in a sharp breath. “Christ, Sirius, your scarf!” he hissed.

Sirius glanced down. Half of the scarf had faded back into green and silver, while the other half remained gold and crimson. He flicked his wrist and it flushed back to Gryffindor colors, but not, unfortunately, before James Potter saw it.

“Ha!” James said, coming to stand in front of Sirius’s desk. Peter stood behind him, looking sheepish and a little bit bored. “Knew it. You’re bloody _Slytherin_ , Black!”

“James, just leave it,” Remus said, sounding tired.

James turned to Remus. “Give him a week, Lupin. He won’t even be speaking to you. He can’t stand to look at any of us.”

Sirius just glared at James, but refused to say anything.

“Speaking of,” James said, drawing his wand, “ _Slytherins_ don’t have Transfiguration until tomorrow. I expect you can wait here for your housemates to rescue you.” James muttered a spell and flicked his wand at Sirius. “Come on, Pete,” James said, and the two of them left.

Sirius tried to stand, but found he rather couldn’t. His eyes went wide, in sudden panic.

Fucking James Potter.

Remus, seeing Sirius’s expression, slid back into the seat next to him. “Are you stuck?”

Sirius scowled and nodded. He waved his hand over his lap, praying it would undo the charm, but nothing happened.

“Merlin, let me try,” Remus said, and drew his wand.

Sirius glared at him and took out Remus’s ballpoint from his pocket. He scribbled on his hand, then showed it to Remus.

_LEAVE. YOU HAVE CLASS._

Remus rolled his eyes. “So do _you_ ,” he said. “And I’m sure they can do without me for one class. I’ve already read the textbook anyway and, from what my dad told me, History of Magic isn’t exactly a thrilling experience. Let me help, Sirius.”

Sirius held his gaze for a moment, then rolled his eyes and nodded.

Just then, McGonagall walked back into the otherwise empty classroom. Both Sirius and Remus straightened up and Remus immediately tucked his wand away. McGonagall froze when she caught sight of them.

“Mr. Black!” she snapped, ignoring Remus entirely. “What on earth are you still doing here?!”

Sirius glared at her, but didn’t reply.

McGonagall scowled at him. “ _Mr. Black!_ Answer me!”

Still, Sirius didn’t reply. He threw a glance at Remus, wondering if he’d caught onto Sirius’s strict obedience to McGonagall’s earlier order. He assumed he had, given how he’d taken the fact that Sirius wrote a message on his hand in stride.

“Of all the spoiled, insolent children, how is it that _you_ , Mr. Black, found your way into Gryffindor? I will not tolerate—”

“Professor?” Remus said, cutting her off.

McGonagall seemed to acknowledge him for the first time. “Yes, what is it, Lupin?”

“You told him he couldn’t speak until he left the classroom, or he’d get detention,” Remus said, his voice remarkably calm and reasonable.

McGonagall huffed. “You may speak, Mr. Black. Why are you still in my classroom?”

Sirius sat up a bit straighter. Then, as politely as he could manage, he said, “Well, you see, Professor, it seems that I’m rather stuck.”

McGonagall blinked. “Stuck?”

“Yes,” Sirius said, keeping his voice neutral. “My arse is glued to this bench.”

It was clear that whatever she’d been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. McGonagall turned to Remus. “And you, Mr. Lupin? Are you… _stuck_ as well?”

“No,” Remus said, glancing between Sirius and McGonagall. “I’m mostly here for moral support.”

McGonagall sighed. “Mr. Black,” she said, her voice far more measured. “Do you know who it was that performed this sticking charm?”

Sirius didn’t hesitate. “No, I don’t, Professor.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” Sirius said. “My back was turned. And even if it wasn’t, I’m not a snitch.”

McGonagall frowned. “Mr. Lupin, did you happen to see who cast the charm on Mr. Black while his back was turned?”

Remus gave Sirius a look, but said, “No, I didn’t. It seems my back was turned as well.”

Sirius smiled.

“Well,” McGonagall said. “Mr. Black, seeing as how you somehow managed to get yourself into this predicament in the first place, it’s only fitting for you to sit for the duration of the charm. I shall notify Professor Binns of your absence. Mr. Lupin, off to class with you.”

“Professor, I—” Remus started, then stopped at McGonagall’s glare.

“Yes, what now?”

Remus glanced at Sirius. “I-I’m going to stay,” he managed. “Sirius, well. He really is quite stuck and seems to be in need of…”

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. “Moral support?” she prompted.

“Yes, exactly,” Remus said.

“Very well, Mr. Lupin. I shall inform Professor Binns of your absence as well.” She turned her attention back to Sirius. “One more _finger_ out of line, Mr. Black, and I shall be writing to your parents and you’ll be serving at _least_ a month’s detention. Am I understood?”

Sirius swallowed. He couldn’t afford for _any_ of this to get back to his parents. He was in enough trouble as is. “Yes, ma’am.”

McGonagall nodded, and, with a swish of her robes, strolled from the classroom, leaving the two boys alone.

Remus waved his wand and tried a spell. Sirius tried to wiggle, but he wouldn’t budge. He groaned and once more buried his face in his arms, folded on the desk. “Merlin, why’d I do this?” he mumbled.

“Do what?” Remus asked, trying another spell. Still no luck.

Sirius gestured to his lap. “ _This_ ,” he said. At Remus’s confused look, he clarified. “I asked—no, well, I _begged_ the Hat to not put me in Slytherin. It told me I’d be hated for my name, if it put me in Gryffindor and I asked for it anyway. Why the fuck did I do that?”

Remus just shrugged. “Because, for a second there, I think you were trying to be brave.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I’m a _Black_ , Remus. I’m not brave and I don’t belong in Gryffindor. James can see it, so can Frank Longbottom and Professor McGonagall. Hell, even Lily Evans gets it. So why the hell don’t _you_?”

Remus’s lip twitched up a little. He muttered another spell and this one felt a bit like a bee sting. Sirius yelped. Remus, on the other hand, looked momentarily gratified and perhaps just a little bit smug. “I was raised mostly Muggle,” he said, by way of explanation. “Well, I knew about magic, obviously, from my dad, but we lived like Muggles. I don’t know anything about Black family traditions or these seemingly unreasonable expectations resting on the shoulders of pure-blood heirs. I don’t believe in fate, Sirius. I can’t. If I did, I surely wouldn’t be _here.”_

Sirius’s face scrunched up and he turned to look at Remus. “What the hell do you mean by—”

“Besides,” Remus said, ignoring him entirely, though Sirius noticed Remus’s ears turn pink. “It sounds rather like the Hat laid out your options. You _chose_ Gryffindor. That’s all that matters.”

Sirius didn’t know what to say to that.

Remus gave him a smile. “Whatever happens, I think James will come around.”

This time, Sirius snorted. “He hates me, Remus.”

“No,” Remus said. “I think he hates the _idea_ of you.”

“Thanks for that,” Sirius scoffed.

“So prove him wrong.”

“What?”

“Prove to him you belong in Gryffindor,” Remus said, as if it were that simple. “Do the one thing a Slytherin would never do.”

Sirius flashed back to James’s words from last night, at the entrance to Hogwarts castle. He narrowed his eyes. “Are you suggesting,” he said, his voice measured, “I go to Slughorn and tell him I was in on it with James?”

Remus shrugged. “At the very least, it couldn’t hurt.”

Sirius opened and closed his mouth. “There’s a reason I didn’t just do that last night, Remus. I can’t just—”

“Why not?” Remus said. “Is it because you’re scared of Malfoy? Or—” He lowered his voice a bit. “—your mother?”

Sirius looked away. “Mother. She’d kill me if she knew I’d cursed and humiliated Narcissa and Malfoy. They’re _family_ ,” he muttered, spiting out the last word as if it were poison.

“Well,” Remus said, with a smirk, “it looks like you’ve already pissed her off, getting sorted into Gryffindor and all. She called you a blood traitor for that, so how much worse could it possibly get?”

Sirius very nearly laughed aloud at the pure innocence of that statement. Whether or not Remus understood it, there was almost an infinite repository of vengeance when it came to Walburga Black. She could beat Sirius senseless, not feed him for a week, use the Unforgivables on him, or all of the above. No one in his house or outside it would lift a goddamned finger to help him. No one in their right mind would risk raining down that kind of fury on themselves, not even a well-meaning, ignorant, half-blood Gryffindor.

His mother could burn him off the tapestry. Then he’d never see Regulus again.

It could get so much fucking worse than _blood traitor_ , but he couldn’t explain that to Remus Lupin.

Remus, however, seemed to have an uncanny knack for reading Sirius’s mind. “Even if it did get worse, Sirius,” he said, his voice unreasonably kind, “isn’t it better to bear that burden with friends? James Potter was your friend on the train and he could just as easily be again, if he pulled his head from his arse and maybe you groveled a bit. It’s your choice, Sirius.”

 _His_ choice.

 _His fucking choice_.

Sirius Black was not used to so many goddamned _choices_.

He wasn’t much used to _friends_ either.

“I’ll think about it,” he muttered. Then, he gestured down to his lap. “Now, have you got anything better than that stinger one you did? That fucking _hurt_.”

Remus laughed, then muttered, “ _Reglutino.”_

Hesitating a second, Sirius stood up.

“HA!” he exclaimed, shoving the bench back and nearly toppling Remus off of it. “Oh, to be free at last!”

Remus rolled his eyes and gathered his books. “Come on, you,” he said, nodding towards the door. “We’re already excused from class. What do you say to an early lunch?”

 

                                                                                                    

 

The rest of the day was predominantly uneventful.

In their afternoon Charms class, Remus kept himself between Sirius and James at all times. It was subtle; Sirius didn’t even think James noticed, as James continued to glare at Sirius straight through Remus, but something in Sirius twisted a little bit. Remus was _protecting_ him.

It was a weird feeling. For all his life, he’d been in danger, at least to some degree. Sirius Black walked around with a target on his back, the unquestionable culprit for whatever slight, imagined or otherwise, that might piss off his father or mother, Kreacher, or tutor. Curses, hexes, and jinxes flew free and unhindered at Grimmauld Place, and Sirius had been the recipient of a great many of them.

No one ever tried to _protect_ him before.

Sirius had defended Regulus, of course, more times than he truly cared to count. He always figured it was best if he bore the punishment, rather than his younger brother, even if Regulus was the one who’d actually been in the wrong. Regulus didn’t deserve that kind of punishment.

(Sirius deserved it. He’d always deserve punishment, no matter how much he feared it, for as long as he lived. He’d done terrible things. Unspeakable things. Things that could earn him a sentence in Azkaban.)

At first, Sirius couldn’t decide if it was kindness or stupidity or an stubborn refusal to acknowledge the apparent darkness inside Sirius that made Remus defend him from James Potter’s wrath. Ultimately, he concluded that it was an odd combination of all three.

Perhaps, that’s what made Remus Lupin Gryffindor.

By the time dinner rolled around, James Potter had taken to ignoring Sirius completely and went so far as speaking as if he weren’t there at all. Remus, naturally, kept trying to bring Sirius into the conversation, despite numerous dirty looks from James, but Sirius mostly spaced out.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what Remus said in Transfiguration.

His mother was going to kill him—or at least respectably maim him—for being sorted into Gryffindor. That much Sirius knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. On some level, he knew that should terrify him—and it did—but it was more of a disembodied dread than a cower-under-the-covers sort of fear.

Whatever actual punishment awaited him, aside from whatever curses she could deliver via owl or Malfoy, it was four months away. There was a chance, however minuscule it was, that the severity of the punishment would lessen slightly if he just kept his nose in the dirt and didn’t do anything else to provoke his parents for the rest of the term.

Then again, the reasonable part of him argued, Walburga Black had a long memory and a burning desire to seek vengeance for even the smallest offense. There’s no way he comes back to Hogwarts in January unscathed, no matter what he does. Even if Sirius made nice with Narcissa and Malfoy, he was still Gryffindor. He still shared a dormitory with a blood traitor, an idiot, and a half-blood. There was no possible universe in which Walburga would let that go.

Which begged the question: Was the cumulated wrath of Walburga Black, and all the pain and anguish that would undoubtedly entail, worth the effort of worming his way back into James Potter’s good graces?

Was it worth being branded a blood traitor?

Was it worth the possibility that his mother might burn him off the tapestry before the year was up?

Or maybe it wasn’t about cost-benefit analysis or fear of punishment at all.

Maybe it was about what was right and fair and just.

Sirius had been there, he’d been involved, just as much as James. The punishment, of course, was wildly unfair and was certainly brokered by Malfoy, but that wasn’t something either Sirius or James could change. The fact remained: if James was to be punished for the incident on the train, it’s reasonable to conclude that Sirius Black should be as well.

Sirius knew this. Objectively, he knew it. He also knew that the he’d only avoided punishment for the incident because of his name.

Perhaps, then, Remus was right after all. If he wanted anyone to look at him and see more than his name and family history, he had to prove he was nothing like a Black.

Maybe this was about doing what was right, and damning the consequences, however severe they may be.

Maybe that would make him _brave_.

After dinner, James Potter stood and left for detention.

Sirius waited five minutes, threw a half-smile at Remus, and followed James to the dungeons.

When Sirius pushed open the heavy door to Slughorn’s office, James Potter was the only one in the room. It smelled a bit like mildew and potion fumes. Sirius tried not to breathe too deep. Instead, he strolled in, his head held high, and plopped into the seat right next to James. Sirius leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk.

“What the _actual_ fuck are you doing here?” James hissed.

Sirius shrugged and looked at his cuticles, aiming for nonchalance, even though his heart was threatening to hammer out of his chest. “Serving detention, same as you.”

Just then, Slughorn walked in, balancing two cauldrons in his arms. Sirius put his feet down and all four legs of the chair returned to the floor.

“Now, Potter,” Slughorn said, teetering the cauldrons a bit. “I want these scrubbed and polished. They’re full of chimera dung, which can be quite pungent, so I do hope you’ve brought gloves. If not, I’m afraid you’ll have to use your hands.”

James looked affronted and wrinkled his nose at the idea.

Slughorn set the cauldrons down and turned to look at James. His face brightened when he saw Sirius. “Ah, Mr. Black. What a pleasant surprise. How can I help you this evening?”

Sirius swallowed his nerves and but all the bravado he could into his voice. “I’m here to serve detention, sir.”

“My word, whatever for? I don’t believe I received a detention slip from another professor,” he said, sorting through the mess of parchments on his desk.

“No, sir,” Sirius said. “I’m here for the same reason as James. I was with him on the train. Strictly speaking, I’m the one who turned the corridors to ice.”

Slughorn held his gaze for a minute, clearly surprised, then turned to James. “You put him up to this, didn’t you, Potter?” he snapped, his voice rising. “I’ll have you know, bribing other students into admitting guilt will not lessen, your punishment. That’ll be another—”

James opened his mouth, clearly ready to protest, but Sirius beat him to it. “He didn’t _bribe_ me, Professor,” Sirius said, a little insulted that Slughorn thought he was stupid enough to accept an offer like that. “I’m here because it’s only fair. I was with James on the train when Snivellus or whatever-his-name-is was hexed and I helped him escape. If James is to be punished for it, so should I.”

Slughorn sighed. “Mr. Black, are you sure that’s what happened?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“You understand, then,” Slughorn continued, “that if you are to share in Potter’s punishment, I will have to write your parents and inform them of your involvement in this prank. Are you _absolutely_ sure you are remembering the events exactly as they transpired?”

Slughorn was offering him an out.

Sirius could walk away, no questions asked, and his mother would never hear of it.

He shoved down the part of him that was roaring for him to take escape route, the part of him that so rightfully terrified of the pound of flesh this would cost him.

With ever ounce of courage he possessed, Sirius met Slughorn’s eyes. “I’m sure, Professor.”

“Right, then. Twenty more points from Gryffindor, I suppose,” Slughorn said. “It seems I have another letter to write. Both of you, take a cauldron. You’re not to use your wands at all. When you’re finished, you may leave, and I’ll see you both tomorrow night.”

Sirius and James both nodded, after a quick glance between them. To Sirius’s satisfaction, James looked rather bewildered, if not a little cautious. Together, they walked up to Slughorn’s desk and grabbed a cauldron each. Sirius very nearly gagged at the smell, as they brought the cauldrons back to their desks.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Slughorn said. He gathered a stack of papers and a few quills. Then, he paused, mid-shuffle. “Oh, and Mr. Black? That dinner I mentioned on Friday night…? Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to reschedule. It appears something has come up.”

Sirius could have laughed. He was _uninvited_ to a dinner party he hadn’t particularly wanted to attend in the first place. He hid his smile and said, “Alright, Professor.”

Slughorn left the room.

After a tense moment, Sirius risked a glance at James over the brim of his reeking cauldron.

James stared right back at him, his expression decidedly blank. “Why’d you do that?”

“It was only fair,” Sirius mumbled.

“Not good enough, Black.”

Sirius shrugged. “I thought it might prove you wrong.”

“What?”

“I’m not like them, James,” Sirius said, looking away. “Or, at least I don’t want to be. When the Hat told me it thought I might be suited for Gryffindor, I fucking begged it to place me there because I didn’t want to be in Slytherin. My family is shit, James, and I don’t want any favors or privileges just because I’m related to them. So, yes. It’s shitty and unfair that you were punished last night and I wasn’t. I’m just trying to make it right.”

James stared at him, but didn’t say anything.

“I, uh,” Sirius mumbled. “I wanted to do the right thing. I thought maybe this might be the Gryffindor thing to do.”

The corners of James’s lips tugged upward and he snorted a genuine _laugh_. “You thought,” he said, “turning yourself in for a prank that was neither your idea nor entirely your fault to begin with was the _Gryffindor_ thing to do?”

Sirius fidgeted for a moment, before he realized James was teasing him. Actually, properly _teasing_ him, as if they were _friends_. Elated at the thought, Sirius smirked. “Well, no. Strictly speaking, I think a true Gryffindor would have gotten away with it, but I figured that’s problem for next time.”

James shot him a wolfish grin. “Next time?”

“You really think I’m going to let Malfoy get away with all that? He should be the one scrubbing shit from cauldrons, not us. He’s the one that hexed Snivellus in the first place,” Sirius said.

“Snivellus?”

“The greasy bloke.”

“Ah, yes.”

Sirius grinned. “Regardless,” he said. “Malfoy ought to be knocked down a few more pegs and I’m certainly open to suggestions. He’s an arse.”

“That he is,” James replied. Then, he shot Sirius an appraising look. “So. You think you belong in Gryffindor then?”

Sirius shrugged. It was a fair question, after all. “I have rather dichotomous views on the subject, but yes,” he said. James mouthed the word _dichotomous_ back at him, clearly trying to work out its meaning from context. “I’d sure as hell like to belong in Gryffindor, especially if the alternative is Slytherin.”

James considered this, then nodded. “Then I’m sorry for being an arse to you and for gluing you to a bench.” He grimaced a bit, and _Merlin_ , was that actually _remorse_ on his face? “And for spilling peas on you. And shoving you against the door. Merlin, you’re alright, aren’t you? You sounded like you were in pain.”

Sirius blinked at him, honestly rather taken aback. “Yes, James, I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the _point_ ,” James said, quickly. “And I’m sorry anyway.”

Sirius didn’t know what to do with that. He looked away. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“What, in Merlin’s name, are you _thanking_ me for?”

Sirius flushed red. He preferred not to answer that one.

“Sirius?” James prompted.

Sirius bit back a groan. “No one’s ever, ah,” he began. He took a breath. “No one’s ever apologized. For hurting me, I mean.”

James blinked at him. “Well, that’s just bloody awful.”

“What?” Sirius said, his face scrunching up in confusion.

“You felt guilty about something, you marched down here and made it right,” James said, simply. “I was an arse to you, I feel guilty about it, so I’m apologizing. That’s how these things work. In fact, this is all such a mess, so let’s start over.” James stuck out his hand, over the filthy cauldrons. “Hi. My name is James Potter.”

Despite everything, despite the confusion and the underlying sense of terror for the punishment that would no doubt result from all of this, Sirius couldn’t keep the smile off his face at the sight of James’s proffered hand. He remembered doing the same thing to James in Diagon Alley.

Ignoring the pain, Sirius shook his hand. “Sirius Black,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Potter.”

James shot him an award-winning smile. “What do you say we scrub these clean and get the hell out of here? I’m not sure how much longer I can stand the smell.”

“Ah,” Sirius said, with a genuine smile of his own. “I might be able to do something about that.”

He raised his hand, twirling his fingers and allowing his magic to spark between them. Then, deciding it best to test the spell on himself first, he pointed at his nose. It tickled a bit and Sirius almost sneezed, but when he inhaled, he couldn’t smell a thing.

Without hesitating, he pointed his finger at James’s nose. James, of course, did sneeze, but then barked out a laugh. “Fucking brilliant, you are,” he said.

Sirius smirked. “See, I keep saying that, but no one ever believes me.”

James rolled his eyes and went to Slughorn’s desk to grab a cleaning brush. He tossed one to Sirius, who caught it.

“Hey, Sirius?” James said.

“Yeah?”

“Welcome to Gryffindor.”

 

 

 


	4. The Secrets We Keep

**SEPTEMBER 3, 1971**

 

“First years, up and at ‘em! Common room, hurry up!”

Sirius jolted awake and nearly flew out of his bed. The edges of his nightmare receded a little, the tendrils still tight around his throat, but when he blinked, he was in the Gryffindor dormitory, not Grimmauld Place. He collapsed back on his pillow and let out a long breath of relief.

James and Sirius had gotten back late from detention, despite their best intentions of finishing early. Both boys had been so exhausted they’d just collapsed on their beds, not bothering with any homework. Sirius had tossed and turned all night, but he’d finally managed to properly _sleep_.

That is, until, Frank Longbottom barged into their dorms and started screaming like a mad idiot. “Get your arses out of bed! First year common room meeting, _now!”_

Morning person or no, Sirius Black did not appreciate waking up at—he waved his hand and cast a time charm—Merlin, half-six-bloody-A.M. to shouting. Sirius let out a long breath. It’d been ages since he slept in that long.

He rolled over and yanked back his hangings. Frank Longbottom stood in the doorway, clearly quite prepared to begin another round of yelling.

Sirius threw his legs over the side of the bed and pushed his hair out of his face. “What’s going on, Longbottom?” he asked.

Frank scowled at him. “First years need a lecture on discipline. Common room. _Now_ , the lot of you.”

James and Peter stared at Frank, bleary-eyed and confused. James’s hair stood up in every fathomable direction and he squinted at the scene in front of him, not seeming to remember that he needed his glasses to see it properly. Peter smacked his lips a few times and raised his eyebrows halfway up his forehead to compensate for his droopy eyes, but he stood and stretched and shook the sleep away. Remus, on the other hand, was still sleeping soundly on his bed next to Sirius’s. The hangings were open and Remus let out a soft snore, completely oblivious to the commotion around him.

When none of them moved, Frank flicked his wand and a loud screech came from it. Sirius covered his ears. James and Peter both jumped to their feet. Remus kept on snoring.

“I won’t say it again!” Frank shouted.

“Alright, alright, we’re coming!” James screamed back, over the noise.

Frank eyed Remus’s sleeping form. “ _Everyone_ downstairs now.”

“We’ll handle it,” Sirius growled.

Frank glared at him for a second, then flicked his wand. The shrieking stopped. Frank turned on his heel, leaving the three boys to wake their friend.

James, Peter, and Sirius surrounded Remus’s bed. Remus was on his back, his mouth open, with one arm slung over his eyes, completely dead to the world.

Peter scrubbed the sand from his eyes and leaned over the bed a bit. “Is he… Is he _dead_?”

“Yes, Pete,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes. “That’s why he’s snoring so loudly.”

“How do we wake him up?” James asked.

“Do we pour water on him?” Peter suggested.

Sirius shrugged. “Sure, go ahead. And when he wakes up and craves vengeance, I’ll be sure to point him in your direction.”

Peter gulped and promptly shut up.

“Do you have any suggestions, Sirius?” James asked, flicking his wand at his nightstand. His glasses levitated over to him and James situated them on his face.

“You could try poking him,” Sirius said with a shrug.

“Why do I have to try poking him?” James whined.

“Peter’s too scared and I’m too beautiful to be strangled this early in the morning.”

James rolled his eyes. “Are you serious?”

“I’m always Sirius,” he deadpanned.

At that, James yanked Remus’s pillow out from under his head and flung it at Sirius.

“Oi!” Remus said, eyes wide and plopping back onto the mattress.

Sirius threw the pillow right back at James.

Remus snatched the pillow out of the air. “If you two are still fighting, then don’t get my goddamn pillow involved in your petty squabble.”

James and Sirius exchanged a look, then laughed.

“Nah, we’re fine,” James said, ruffling Remus’s curly bedhead. “Sirius just has a horrible sense of humor.”

Sirius stuck his tongue out. “You love it.” He turned to Remus. “Frank wants us in the common room. Apparently, we have a discipline problem.”

Ten minutes later, James, Peter, and Sirius were fully dressed and ready for the day. Remus, on the other hand, was still in his pinstriped pajamas, his hair was untamed, and there was a look in his eyes that spelled death and destruction for anyone who tested his patience.

One glance at Remus, and Sirius couldn’t hold back a snort. “Really, _really_ not a morning person, are you?” he whispered, following Remus down the stairs.

“No,” Remus deadpanned.

“You’re hair’s amazing, by the way. Almost as crazy as James’s. You should wear it like that more often.”

Remus growled at him.

Frank stood in the middle of the common room. The three first year Gryffindor girls stood close to the staircase that led up to their dormitory, looking just as grumpy and disheveled as Remus. Lily Evans had her arms crossed over her chest and a pout on her face. Her red hair was tied back in a messy braid that had clearly been slept on.

Even from across the room, her fury was almost palpable.

Next to Sirius, James Potter stared at Lily like she had descended from the heavens right in front of him.

“Jamie, you’re drooling,” Sirius said, out of the corner of his mouth.

James’s attention snapped to Sirius, shooting him the same, confused look he’d had on the train when Sirius first used the nickname. Before James could ask about it, Frank clapped his hands. On Sirius’s other side, Remus flinched at the noise.

Frank surveyed the room, ensuring he had everyone’s attention. “Right, then. See that?” He pointed on the mantle above the fireplace, where a large, golden trophy sat. “That’s the House Cup. As I’m sure it’s been explained to you, Gryffindor earned the cup by having the most points at the end of last term.”

Frank paused to look around at the seven first years. Nobody seemed surprised by this.

“Gryffindor has held the House Cup for the past three years running—” Frank continued.

“But not the Quidditch Cup,” James said.

“Which is arguably more prestigious,” Sirius added.

“Prospects don’t look good this year, either,” said James.

“Yeah, not if Gryffindor plays the same Keeper as last year,” said Sirius.

James shook his head, clearly pained. “Shame, really. We haven’t had a good Keeper since Lewis left to play for the Harpies.”

Sirius raised his eyebrow. “I thought Lewis played for Ravenclaw.”

“Are you kidding?” James said. “Ravenclaw hasn’t had a decent Keeper in centuries. Lewis was Gryffindor.”

“She graduated in ’68 and she was definitely Gryffindor,” Marlene McKinnon shouted from the girls’ side of the common room. “She was friends with my older brother.”

James’s face lit up. “How good of friends? Think your brother could score us tickets to a Harpies game?”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Frank shouted.

The first years shut up.

Frank pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t riled, nor red-faced and furious like Evans, but he was clearly peeved, to say the least.

“Now,” Frank said, forcing his voice to calm, “Gryffindor has held the House Cup for the past three years running. As some of you may know—” He threw a pointed glare at James. “—Gryffindor hasn’t come in dead _last_ in house points since 1734.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“ _However,”_ Frank continued, his voice slowly losing whatever control he’d had over it a moment ago, “it is only the second day of the term and we’re somehow sitting on minus fifty points! Not only that, but three of you have earned detention—”

“ _Three_?” Sirius asked, scrunching his face up in confusion. He exchanged a look with James, then at Remus and Peter.

“Wasn’t us,” Remus muttered, equally confused.

Slowly, the four boys turned to stare at the girls.

Lily Evans flushed a deeper shade of red.

Sirius smirked. “No way.”

James’s jaw dropped. “Sirius,” he hissed. “I think I’m in love.”

“What did you do, Evans?” Sirius asked.

“What did _you_ do, Black?” she shot back.

Sirius threw up his hands in surrender and winked at her. “I made it right.”

Lily blinked at him. Though surprised, she clearly understood what he meant. Sirius smirked. _Bet she didn’t see that coming_.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Frank groaned. “The point is, three of you lot are in detention—two of you for an infraction that occurred on the bloody Hogwarts Express—and Gryffindor is not only leagues behind the other houses, but is currently sitting at minus _fifty_ points.”

The first years all looked at their feet, the very pictures of remorse and we-promise-to-try-better.

All, except Sirius, that is.

Sirius Black was of the belief that he already had enough about which he could choose to feel guilt. If guilt and shame were to be thrust upon him by _any_ authority figure, let alone Frank Longbottom, Sirius was damn well going to do his part in earning it.

“Hang on, Longbottom,” Sirius said. “You said we’re minus fifty points?”

“Yes.”

Sirius smirked. “Remus, you earned points in Transfiguration, right?”

Remus narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

“How many?”

“Ten.”

“Evans, how many points did you lose for your mystery infraction?” Sirius asked.

She scowled at him. “Twenty.”

Sirius could _taste_ victory. “And James and I both lost twenty. That makes a grand total of minus fifty.”

“What’s your point, Black?” Frank snapped.

The four boys looked at each other, all of them hiding wicked grins, all of them on the same page.

“Just to be clear, Remus was the only one in this _entire_ hose to earn points yesterday?” Sirius didn’t wait for Frank’s reply. “Seems to me the rest of you need to step it up.”

“Definitely,” James said, mirroring Sirius’s smirk.

“But instead,” Remus growled, stifling a yawn, “you chose to wake seven first years at the crack of dawn just to inform them that the burden of earning house points lies solely on our shoulders.”

“Seems unfair,” Peter said.

Frank opened and closed his mouth. His ears turned a bit pink.

“But we’re _Gryffindors_ , right lads?” Sirius said.

“Right,” James said, echoed by Remus and Peter.

“Right ladies?” Sirius said, catching Lily’s eye and throwing her a wink.

Lily valiantly tried to hide a smirk of her own. “Right,” she said.

“I’m no expert,” Sirius said, with a pointed look at Frank, “but I’m told that Gryffindors are _brave_.”

Frank fumed. “I don’t—”

“Which is why,” Sirius snapped, cutting him off again, “we’re willing to bear the burden of being the sole earners of Gryffindor house points, since the rest of you are, for some reason, incapable of earning points on your own.”

“That’s not—” Frank started.

“Although,” Remus said, now fully awake, with a smile tugging at the edges of his scars. “Sirius, we might be brave, but we’re not entirely daft. If the seven of us are the only ones earning points, it’s rather unreasonable to assume we’ll win the House Cup again.”

“That’s right.”Sirius beamed, proudly. He walked right up to Frank, only slightly miffed that the prefect stood a good head taller than him. “So, Longbottom. Would you settle for _not_ dead last? More specifically, _second_ to dead last? There are only seven of us and, well, let’s be honest. James and I have a bit of a grudge against Malfoy that will probably cost us a few points. But, overall, I think we’re clever enough to still knock Hufflepuff to the bottom slot.”

Frank scowled. “For the love of Merlin, Black—”

“Hey, Frank?” James said. “If we win the _Quidditch_ Cup, would you settle for dead last in house points? Because I can talk to the Captain about—”

“No, Potter!”

“Second to last it is!” Sirius shouted.

“Hear, hear!” James said. Remus and Peter echoed the cheer. Marlene and Dorcas snickered, but clapped along.

Frank buried his head in his hands in defeat. “Fine!” He trained his eyes on Sirius. “You know the goddamned rules. Whatever you do to Malfoy, I don’t want to hear about it. And make sure we don’t have negative points, Black.”

Prefect duties fulfilled, Frank stormed out the portrait hole.

 

                                                                                                    

 

All of the first years took an early breakfast. The girls sectioned themselves off a ways down the table—still basking in Sirius’s cleverness, or so he told himself—while the four boys sat closest to the head table. James elbowed Sirius as he sat down and Sirius gasped. Remus shot him a concerned look, clearly ready to say something to James, but Sirius waved him off. He took his place next to James, very carefully out of elbowing distance.

Despite the fact that James and Sirius were now on excellent terms and Sirius no longer feared eating in front of James, Remus still made Sirius’s plate and handed it across the table. Disregarding the odd look from Peter, Sirius accepted the plate and poured tea for himself and Remus.

“What do you reckon Care of Magical Creatures will be like?” Peter asked. All Gryffindor first years had a double block of the class after breakfast. “Do you think there’ll be dragons?”

Sirius scoffed. “No, there won’t be dragons.”

“Not until next year,” Remus said with a smirk.

Peter gulped.

“Want to have lunch at the lake, afterwards?” James asked. “Might be nice, before winter’s here.”

“Can’t,” Sirius said. “I’m meeting my cousin at Hagrid’s.”

“Your… cousin?” James said, cautiously.

“Andromeda,” Sirius clarified. “The only good one out of the lot. She’s staying in Hogsmeade. I’d invite you lot, but—”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll meet up later,” James said, casually waving him off. “Andromeda seems alright.”

Sirius smirked, popping a piece of bacon in his mouth. “Yeah, she told me she met you in Diagon Alley. She also said you owed her ten Galleons. What’s that about?”

“Merlin, I forgot,” James groaned, fishing the Galleons out of the pockets of his robes and tossing the coins to Sirius. “I sort of bet her that you’d fall in line with the rest of your family once you got to Hogwarts.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, mate,” Sirius deadpanned. He wasn’t too upset about it. Given who the rest of his family was and the types of beliefs they held, Sirius probably would’ve bet against himself as well.

“In my defense, Andromeda threatened to hex me if I didn’t take the bet,” James said.

“What about basilisks?” Peter asked, clearly still stuck on the Care of Magical Creatures thing. “Do you think we’ll have to fight them?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Merlin, Pete, _no._ It’ll probably be something cute and fluffy. Like McGonagall in cat form.”

“McGonagall has claws,” Remus reminded him. “And though she may be _fluffy_ , she’s still very much a predator.”

“There you go, Pete,” Sirius said. He reached across the table and snagged some of Remus’s bacon, having eaten all of his own. Remus growled, but allowed it. “Cute and fluffy or no, you’re probably going to get eaten alive.”

Peter whimpered a little. James laughed.

Overhead, the morning owls swooped in. A great brown-and-gold flecked owl landed in front of James and deposited a letter in his lap. James slipped the owl a bit of his biscuit and the bird flew off. Then, James opened it, smiling as he read.

Ten seconds later, another owl swooped in and deposited a letter on Sirius’s empty plate. It was the same, unmarked parchment as yesterday. Sirius exchanged a look with Remus over the table. Rather reluctantly, Sirius reached for the letter.

“Sirius, wait!” Remus hissed, his eyes fixed on the letter.

Sirius froze, remembering the boils.

“What’s going on?” James asked, looking between the two of them.

Remus ignored him. “Are you going to open it?”

Sirius almost said no, almost flicked his wand and made the stupid fucking letter dissolve into ashes, but then again…

Instead, Sirius tapped the letter with his wand. It teetered a bit in midair, almost as if it were about to fall back onto his plate, but once he tapped it again, the letter opened, just out of James’s line of sight.

 

 _I told you to stay away from James Potter. You will end any association you have with him immediately and will not so much as SPEAK to anyone like him_.

 

_We will discuss your Sorting at Christmas._

 

Sirius felt himself go pale. He looked across the table, seeking out Remus’s amber eyes, desperate for comfort, desperate to know he’s safe, here and now.

Come Christmas, he’s fucked.

Remus seemed to read his expression. “How bad?” he whispered.

 _Really, really fucking bad_.

Just as he knew she would, his mother had started a list of grievances. She’d keep track, until Christmas, of every breath he took at Hogwarts castle.

Sooner or later, she’d find out about Remus.

Merlin, the things his mother could do to _Remus._

“Sirius?” Remus prompted.

“What the hell is going on?” James demanded. “You’re freaking me out, mate. What’s the letter say? Who’s it from?”

Sirius didn’t—couldn’t—reply.

How long before his mother’s fury turned from him and extended out to his friends?

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake…” James made a grab at the letter.

Sirius stood, panicked. It was cursed. The letter was fucking cursed. His _mother’s_ curse, which could be fucking lethal, for all he knew.

He pointed his wand at the letter. “ _Incendio!”_

The letter and half of Gryffindor table caught fire.

The four boys jumped up, panicking, until James pointed his wand and shouted, “ _Restinguo!”_

The flames died.

The four boys stood frozen. The rest of Gryffindor table gaped at them, but luckily, none of the teachers seemed to be privy to the commotion. Clearly, random fires in the dining hall were not uncommon occurrences.

Ever so slowly, the four boys sank back into their seats.

“What the fuck was that, Sirius?” James hissed.

Sirius gulped, his eyes fixed on the pile of ash in front of him. He let out a slow breath, eyes seeking out Remus for support. Remus, ever the picture of undue sympathy and compassion, gave Sirius a small nod. Without looking at James or Peter, Sirius said, “My _mother_ … Er, well. She wasn’t too happy with my Sorting. She has a nasty habit of putting curses on her letters.”

James’s jaw went slack. “She _what?!_ Sirius, that’s illegal. She can’t go around cursing her own son, least of all _here_.”

“Strictly speaking, it’s not Dark Magic. Or at least it wasn’t yesterday,” Sirius mumbled.

“Yesterday?” Peter squeaked, alarmed.

Sirius grimaced, kicking himself for his own stupidity. “Boils,” he admitted reluctantly.

Remus leaned in closer. “Have they all gone?”

“Most of them,” he replied. There were still a few on his chest, open sores that had popped before he’d been able to burn the letter yesterday. All things considered, though, the boils and Kreacher’s bruises on his ribs were healing. Compared to a few days ago, he was hardly in any pain, so long as no one touched him.

“Boils,” James repeated. His dark, tanned skin appeared vaguely greenish.

Sirius nodded. “Frowned upon, but not strictly illegal. Walburga’s speciality,” he said, with a bit of a smirk, but his attempt at humor fell flat.

James was silent for a minute, before he slammed his flat palm against the slightly charred surface of the table. Sirius jumped. “That’s it,” James snapped. “You still have boils? Good. I’m taking you to Dumbledore.”

James reached out, grabbing Sirius’s wrist.

Sirius reacted immediately, letting out a faint yelp and nearly flew out of his seat. As he did so, he banged his knees on the underside of the table.

Without hesitating, James made to grab Sirius again, but Remus drew his wand and pointed it at James. “James, _leave_ it!” Remus hissed.

James turned on him. “You’re okay with this, Remus?!” he demanded. “It’s fucking child abuse!”

“Keep your voice down!” Remus stage whispered, glancing around. No one was paying any attention to them, save for Lily Evans, who seemed to have half an ear towards their conversation, all the while nodding along to whatever Dorcas was saying. He lowered his wand.

“I won’t fucking stand for this!” James snapped. “He’s hurt. His _mother_ cursed him. If you lot won’t go to Dumbledore, then I bloody hell will!”

“No!” Sirius shouted. All three boys turned to him, stunned, as did most of the Gryffindor table. Sirius waited a moment, until everyone else lost interest, then lowered his voice. “No, James. You can’t go to Dumbledore.”

“Why the fuck not?!”

Sirius met dark brown eyes and struggled to keep his voice steady. “Because I’m her _son_ and _heir_ , and look what she’s already done to me. You’re the son of blood traitors. Remus is a half-blood. Pete, well. Pete’s Gryffindor and that’s _enough_. You make her your enemy and nothing will fucking stop her.”

“I’m not afraid of your mother, Sirius,” James said, puffing his chest a little.

 _Ever the bloody stupid Gryffindor_.

“You should be,” Sirius said, without missing a beat. “My _mother_ will curse you black and blue, with whatever she can get away with, and then some. And, James? Speaking from experience, she won’t bloody stop at the Unforgivables.”

Sirius watched all the anger seep out of James Potter. All that was left was a mask of horror.

Peter gulped, then piped up: “But those… Unforgivables, they’re—”

“Illegal?” Sirius prompted, with a self-depreciating laugh. “Yes, but my mother is extremely adept at security wards and, technically speaking, the Ministry can’t trace the Unforgivables unless a victim is stupid enough to come forward.” He threw a pointed glance at James. “And, if they did, well. My father owns half the Wizengamot and can easily blackmail the rest of them, if it were ever to come to a trial.”

James shook his head. “Sirius, you can’t just expect us to—”

_Yes, I damn-well can._

Sirius had to keep them safe. He’d rather march into hell this very instant and kiss the devil’s arse than allow Remus, James, and Peter to go down with him.

“Swear to me,” Sirius said.

“What?”

“Swear on your magic you won’t tell anyone about this,” Sirius said. He looked at Remus and Peter. “All of you.”

A little ways down the table, Sirius caught Lily’s eye. She was definitely _watching_ , intrigued by whatever was going on, but decidedly looked away. Sirius shook his head. If he had to, he could deal with Evans later.

James gaped at him. “Sirius, you can’t expect us to—”

Remus held up his wand. James shut his mouth.

“I, Remus John Lupin, solemnly swear upon my magic and my wand, that I will never speak of the secret atrocities committed by the Blacks to anyone, without the express permission of Sirius Black.”

Sirius shot him a weak smile and said, “Thank you.”

Remus elbowed Peter, who held out his own wand. “I, P-Peter Percival Pettigrew, solemnly swear on my wand and my magic, that I will never speak of the atrocities committed by the Blacks to anyone, without the express permission of Sirius Black.”

Three sets of eyes turned to James.

“Fine!” James said, exasperated. He raised his wand. “I, James Fleamont Potter, solemnly swear on my magic and my wand, that I will not speak of the secret atrocities of the parents of Sirius Black, without the express permission of Sirius Black.”

Sirius noted the change in language, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he said, “Your middle name is Fleamont?”

Remus snickered into his tea.

James puffed out his chest a little. “Yes, it is. What’s yours?”

“Orion,” Sirius said, pulling a face. “Any chance you want to trade?”

 

                                                                                                    

 

Sirius hadn’t known what a Clabbert was until he saw one hanging from Professor Cuckoo’s arm in Care of Magical Creatures. As per McGonagall’s instructions, the first year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors reported to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where they were greeted by none other than Professor Cuckoo and his recently-acquired pet Clabbert, Hickory Dave.

In Sirius’s strict opinion, Professor Artemus Cuckoo bore a striking resemblance to the Clabbert, Hickory Dave. Both had abnormally long, lanky limbs not unlike a chimpanzee, and both had pinched, frog-like noses that were far too broad for their respective facial features. The only discernible differences between the two was the copious amount of hair covering Hickory Dave, as well as the rather obvious, green knob that protruded from the Clabbert’s forehead.

That, and the fact that Hickory Dave was most certainly _female_.

Her previous caretaker—an idiotic and eccentric American by the name of Toby Beans—had had an affinity for Kentucky barbecue, but had no practical understanding of any female primate anatomy. He’d only discovered the particular ins and outs of Hickory Dave’s biology when she’d fallen pregnant. Unbeknownst to Beans, Clabberts were rather amorous creatures and tended to breed quite rapidly and, much like more than a few country hicks in the Kentucky wilderness, were not entirely opposed to the concept of incest. Poor Hickory Dave had fourteen pups within a year, before ol’ man Beans even considered getting her and her children fixed.

Of course, when he did so, the Magical Congress of the United States of America was promptly alerted to the presence of unsanctioned magical creatures and Hickory Dave and her brood were relocated to better homes.

Other than their unreasonably short gestation periods and their affinity for in-breeding, Clabberts, said Professor Cuckoo, were rather docile creatures. They had an extremely heightened sense of smell, especially for primates, a voracious appetite, and were known to be quite cuddly when sleepy, which was why they were often taken from their habitats in Southern America to serve as sort of black market pets for wizarding children. The knobs on their forehead, Cuckoo said, changed color with the Clabbert’s mood. More specifically, green was for content and awake, as it was most of the time, blue was for asleep, and red was for mortal danger.

After explaining all this, Professor Cuckoo flicked his wand and small bowls flew into each students’ hands. Next to him, Remus held his bowl at arm’s length, clearly repulsed by the smell and trying not to breathe too deep. Sirius held his up, for closer inspection. He was pretty sure something was wiggling in the brown and yellow mush. A few of the Ravenclaw girls yelped. Peter dropped his bowl entirely.

“What in Merlin’s name is _this_?” James said, holding his up.

“That, Mr. Potter,” said Professor Cuckoo, “is Hickory Dave’s favorite lunch. Can anyone tell me what it is?”

James, Sirius, and Remus watched in horror as Lily Evans stuck her finger in the mush, scooped up a bit, and popped it in her mouth. Then, pulling a face, she said, “Mac and cheese, topped with live crickets, mayonnaise, and… Is that _barbecue_ sauce?”

Remus looked like he was going to be sick. Lily didn’t appear be doing much better.

“Very good—Evans, was it?” Cuckoo said. Lily nodded. “Ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Frank will be so proud,” Remus deadpanned.

Sirius barked a laugh. “Was it worth it, Evans?”

“Not at all,” she said. “Next time, one of you eats the crickets.”

“Hear that, Pete?” Sirius said, leaning over James to look at the shorter boy. “You get Hickory Dave’s leftovers.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t anticipate there being any leftovers. Hickory Dave hasn’t eaten since breakfast. I can assure you, she’s quite hungry. Plus, it seems that eating tends to keep her mind off her sudden inability to mate,” Professor Cuckoo said. “I’d like each of you to come forward and feed her what’s in your bowl. This is the primary way to establish trust with a Clabbert. You will need to feed Hickory Dave your entire bowl to earn full marks.”

The first years formed a line. Remus snagged James by the elbow and marched him towards the back of the line, casting a wary glance at Hickory Dave. Sirius shrugged and followed. When it was his turn, he tried to wandlessly levitate the food into Hickory Dave’s mouth, but after a sharp glare from Professor Cuckoo, Sirius used his fingers. After his bow was empty, Sirius tossed it aside and twirled his fingers, vanishing any trace of Hickory Dave’s saliva or her disgusting meal. Sirius took his place next to James. Remus was the last one in line.

However, the second Remus stepped within five feet of Hickory Dave, the Clabbert let out a guttural, ear-splitting wail and the knob on her forehead turned bright red. Several of the Ravenclaw girls screamed right along with it.

Remus immediately stepped back, dropped his bowl, and raised both hands in surrender.

Hickory Dave stopped screaming and the knob turned green again. She kept cautious, beady eyes fixed on Remus. Her nostrils flared.

The second it was quiet again, everyone, including James, Sirius, and Peter, burst out laughing.

Remus, however, seemed almost… _heartbroken_.

“A-Alright, that’s enough!” cried a flustered and confused Professor Cuckoo. “Pick up your bowl and try again, dear boy.”

Reluctantly, Remus obeyed. He looked over at the group of first years, and _Merlin_ , there were tears in his eyes.

Sirius stopped laughing immediately and elbowed James, ignoring the zing of pain that shot up his arm at the contact.

Remus took a tentative step forward.

Once more, Hickory Dave let out a wail and the knob on her forehead flashed red. This time, she tried to climb onto Professor Cuckoo’s back, trying to put distance between herself and Remus.

Remus backed off again, his eyes focused on the forest floor. “I-I’m sorry, Professor, but I… I don’t think she’ll let me any closer.”

“You sure she’s not just… full?” James asked.

“No, no,” Professor Cuckoo said, giving Remus an appraising glance. “Unfortunately, it’s just her… nature, I suppose.” Then, to Remus, he said, “I’m afraid I cannot give you full marks, my boy, but five points to Gryffindor for two valiant attempts.”

Remus did not seem to be in any way consoled by earning house points.

“That’s enough for today. Read the next chapter in your books for next time. Class dismissed,” Professor Cuckoo said, before starting the trek back to the castle, Hickory Dave still hanging off his arm. One by one, the class followed him.

Remus stayed frozen, staring at the ground.

With a quick glance at James, Sirius took a step towards Remus, craning his neck a bit, trying to catch Remus’s eye.

“Remus?” he said.

Watery amber eyes met his. “It thought I was a monster,” Remus whispered. He bit his lip, right over the scar.

“What? No, it didn’t,” Sirius said, mildly alarmed. Why on earth would Remus think a thing like that? Sirius cast a look at James and Peter, silently begging for support. The other boys nodded along. “She probably just thought you didn’t shower, or something.”

Remus, much to Sirius’s relief, still had the capacity to look mildly insulted. “I did _so_ shower,” he said.

“Then perhaps Hickory Dave didn’t like your soap,” Sirius said. “She seems rather fussy. She is American, after all.”

That earned him a laugh.

“We’ve got the rest of the period free,” James said. “Everyone still up for that picnic?”

Remus and Peter nodded.

“I’ll head to Hagrid’s now, then,” Sirius said. “See if I can’t catch Andromeda early. I’ll meet up with you lot as soon as I can.”

 

                                                                                                    

 

Sirius nearly swallowed his tongue when Hagrid opened the door to his hut.

Hagrid was _fucking_ huge. He consumed nearly the entire doorframe and his beard hung down to his gut. His eyes were soft and kind, though the left one was rather purple and swollen shut. There was a golfball-sized lump on his forehead to complement the black eye.

“Um, hi,” Sirius said, shifting awkwardly, trying not to stare. “Is Andromeda here? She told me to meet her—”

“Sirius Black, is it?” Hagrid said.

“Yes.” Hesitantly, Sirius stuck out his hand.

Hagrid looked him up and down. “Ah, I wouldn’t do that, ‘f I were you. ‘Dromeda always seems to have a bit of pain whenever it comes to touchin’ me. I expect it’ll be the same for you.”

Sirius yanked his hand back.

“I do ‘preciate it, though,” Hagrid continues. “Yer mighty brave to offer yer hand to strangers, without knowin’ their bloodlines and all.” Hagrid shook his head. “Terrible thing fer a parent to do, really, brandin’ a child with that kind o’ magic. Real sorry ‘bout that.”

Sirius felt his jaw drop. Hagrid _knew_ about the tattoo on his chest. “Um, thanks,” he managed, not knowing what else to say.

“Come on in, then,” Hagrid said, standing aside. “I’ve jus’ put on some tea. Hope you’re okay with rock cakes for lunch. ‘Fraid I don’t have much else lyin’ around.”

Sirius squeezed past him, carefully avoiding contact with Hagrid. The hut was large, and clearly built for someone of Hagrid’s size and stature. Sirius sat in a high-backed, stone chair, that made him feel a whole lot younger than he was. From where he sat, his chin was even with the edge of the table. He’d always been a bit short, but this… This was ridiculous.

Sirius turned sideways in the chair, pointedly ignoring the table, and instead, opted for watching Hagrid shuffle around the kitchen, occasionally muttering things to his cooking. “I added salt t’ this already, dinnit I? Oh well, bit more never hurt nobody.”

Just then, something soft and fluffy crawled into Sirius’s lap and made itself comfortable. Sirius let out a yelp, jumped a little, and held his hands above his head in surprise, but the creature just kneaded his lap and let out a purr.

Hagrid turned at the noise and boomed a great laugh. “Oh, that? That there’s Spot. She’s quite friendly. Excellent judge of character. She won’t bite you unless you deserve it.”

 _Spot_ was covered in long, golden stripes, all the way from the tips of her ears to the extended length of her tail. Her face was a bit squashed and two fangs protruded from her lower lip. Sirius kept his hands in the air and wrinkled his nose a bit.

“I’m, uh,” Sirius began, not wanting to offend Hagrid, but not entirely comfortable with the creature in his lap. “I’m not much of a cat person.”

“Expect it won’t matter much,” Hagrid said, amicably. “Spot’s not a cat. She’s a kneazle. ’S why her tail’s so long. That’s usually how you can tell. That, and she’s real good at sniffin’ out untrustworthy folk.”

Sirius didn’t quite know what to say to that, but he reached out a tentative hand and scratched the kneazle’s ears. Spot arched into his touch and let out a contented purr.

“Look-y there,” Hagrid said, with a broad grin. “She likes you.”

There was a knock at the door. A second later, Andromeda Black pushed the great thing open and stepped inside the hut. “Hagrid?” she said, peering around the door. “Merlin, what happened to your face?”

“‘Dromeda,” Hagrid greeted, fondly. He set a steaming teapot down on the table, along with two, slightly-cracked cups. “Had a bit of a run in wit’ the Whompin’ Willow yesterday. Nasty thing, that tree. I was jus’ tryin’ to make sure it was takin’ root properly—Dumbledore just had me plant it over the holidays, see—and it nearly took my head off.”

Sirius sat up straight. “The Whomping Willow?” he said.

Andromeda seemed to notice him for the first time. “Sirius!” she exclaimed. She rushed forward, pulled him to his feet, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Spot, apparently anticipating all of this, jumped easily down from Sirius’s lap and twined her long tail with Andromeda’s legs, still purring.

Though initially shocked at her reaction, Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and clung to his cousin, relishing in the painless physical contact. She held him for longer than was strictly necessary or comfortable, given Hagrid was still in the room, but Sirius was grateful. When finally she pulled away, she kept her hand on Sirius’s shoulder even when she took the chair next to him. Spot hopped right back onto Sirius’s lap and went to sleep.

“Hagrid,” Sirius said, clearing his throat that was suddenly much tighter than it had been before Andromeda walked in. “What were you saying about the Whomping Willow?”

“Jus’ that it nearly did me in,” Hagrid said. “Now, I figure I should jus’ let you two talk.” He eyed Sirius. “Expect you’ve got a lot to talk about and Madam Hooch said there’s some gnomes that’ve taken up in the Quidditch pitch. Reckon I’ll head out and handle that.”

Hagrid grabbed a large, pink umbrella and opened the door.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” Andromeda said, tightening her grip on Sirius’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Sirius echoed. Then, before Hagrid disappeared through the door, Sirius said, “Hagrid? Where’s the Whomping Willow at?”

“Wha— _oh,”_ Hagrid said, pausing. He pointed across the ground. “Jus’ there, at the edge of the grounds, towards Hogsmeade.”

Sirius made a mental note and ignored Andromeda’s curious look.

Hagrid, however, narrowed his eyes. “You ought to stay away from the Whompin’ Willow, Sirius Black. ’S not safe, ’specially for a first year.” Sirius held his gaze, but made no promises. “Right. Best be going, then.”

Hagrid left.

Andromeda flicked her wand and the tea poured itself into the cracked mugs. She held one out to Sirius, who took it in his hand that wasn’t currently scratching Spot’s ears. “So,” Andromeda said, taking a sip of her tea. “How’re you holding up?”

Sirius didn’t reply right away, just stared straight back at Andromeda. She looked nothing like Narcissa. Andromeda wore her hair long, curly, and dark, where Narcissa’s was straight and revoltingly blonde. Andromeda did, however, bear a remarkable resemblance to Bellatrix, though Sirius wasn’t ever going to mention it. Andromeda was still a Slytherin and a Black; hexes came as easily as breathing to her, if she thought you deserved it.

Andromeda’s eyes were different than Bella’s, though. They were grey, like Sirius’s, like all the Blacks, for that matter, but Andromeda’s were unreasonably _kind_.

“Sirius?” she said again. “Are you alright?”

_Is he alright?_

Sirius scoffed. “No,” he said. “Not really. But I’m… better than I was that first night, I guess.”

Andromeda nodded and took another sip of tea. “How’d she take it?”

“How’d you expect?” he said. He sat forward a bit, and, with his free hand, lifted his shirt. The bruises from Kreacher were yellowing and greenish, a stark contrast to the raw, open sores from the leftover boils.

Andromeda wasn’t phased. She simply nodded and drew her wand. “Want me to heal them?” she asked.

“They’re from a curse,” Sirius said, scrunching his face and lowering his shirt again. “Didn’t think you could heal them.”

“You can’t heal Dark Magic curses,” Andromeda said. “ _This_ isn’t strictly Dark. Or, at least I don’t think so. _Repifarigo!”_

Sirius straightened. The pain in his chest immediately vanished. He lifted his shirt once more, this time revealing only smooth, unmarked skin, save for the tattoo above his heart. “Thanks,” he said, earnestly. “Can you teach me?”

Andromeda smiled and repeated the incantation, while demonstrating the wand movement. Sirius mimicked the twirl and flick with his fingers. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Use your wand, you idiot,” she said, fondly. “You’ll hurt yourself otherwise.”

“Right,” Sirius said, though, he figured there was a good chance he’d hurt himself anyway, if he tried to use his wand. It hadn’t exactly been cooperating with him lately.

“Horrible curses aside,” Andromeda said, “how’s Gryffindor treating you?”

“Bit of a rough start,” Sirius admitted. He reached into his pocket and pulled out James’s Galleons. “But James Potter sends his regards.”

Andromeda laughed and pocketed the Galleons. “Knew he’d come around. I imagine he was a bit of a prat at first, though.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, with a small laugh. “He was, but we’re fine now. Besides, I had another friend, before James came around.”

“Oh?”

“His name is Remus,” Sirius said. He hesitated a bit. “He’s a half-blood.”

“Ah,” said Andromeda, understanding.

“How’d you deal with it, with Ted and everything?” Sirius asked, gesturing to the tattoo on his chest. “I mean, when I shook Ted’s hand, it _hurt_ , but I’ve never felt pain like I do whenever Remus touches me.”

Andromeda’s eyes widened a bit. “Really?” she said. “And you’re sure he’s not Muggle-born?”

“Yes,” Sirius replied. “His dad was Ravenclaw.”

“Huh,” Andromeda said. “Have you told him about the tattoo?”

“No,” Sirius said. “But he, ah. He kind of guessed. Not specifically, really. Just that it hurts whenever someone touches me.”

“Yeah,” Andromeda said, setting down her cup and giving him a small smile. “Ted guessed that pretty early on, too. It’s harder to hide from someone when you want to scream nearly every time they touch you.”

“How’d you handle it?” Sirius asked again. “With Ted. With everyone, really.”

“Well,” she hesitated. “With Ted, it was different, wasn’t it? I, well. I _liked_ him, which basically meant I avoided him for nearly five years, even though he damn well followed me everywhere. Then, I told him the truth.”

“The whole truth?” Sirius asked, alarmed.

Andromeda sighed. “No, not at first. But, eventually, yes. I told him all about it. My parents, the pure-blood fanaticism, the tattoo, and the fact that they have three suitors lined up for me to marry. He took a while, but he accepted it. Accepted that I wasn’t like them, more like.”

“You’re not,” Sirius said firmly.

She bopped him on the nose. “Neither are you, oh, noble Gryffindor.”

Sirius smiled, then twined his fingers with Spot’s long, striped fur. “I asked for it, you know,” he said. “I asked the Hat for Gryffindor.”

Andromeda gave him a sad smile. “I asked it for Slytherin. It kept trying to argue with me that I’d be best suited for Hufflepuff.”

“What?!”

She shrugged. “It has something to do with loyalty. I’m sneaky and cunning enough to get away with Slytherin, sure. Plus, there’s the whole family history. The Hat just argued that I’m also kind or something else I absolutely couldn’t afford to be. Then, well. Guess I wasn’t brave enough to be anything other than the embodiment of the tattoo on my chest when I was eleven.”

Sirius gaped at her. “I’m not… ‘Dromeda, I’m not _brave_.”

“But you want to be,” she said, kindly. “More than anything, Siri, you want to be brave.”

“Walburga’s going to kill me,” Sirius said, his voice tense and quiet. “I mean, she’s actually going to properly kill me.”

“She won’t,” Andromeda replied, with all the conviction she possessed. “You’re the heir, for Merlin’s sake. The family won’t allow it.”

“Then she’ll do the next best thing,” Sirius snapped. “She’ll hex and curse and Crucio me until I can’t see straight.”

Andromeda was quiet for a minute, before she said, “Siri, if it gets that bad, you have to tell me. I know I don’t pull much weight around the Blacks, but I’ll get you out of there. I swear it.”

Sirius shook his head. “I won’t leave Reg.”

“Sirius, he’ll be okay. He—”

“I won’t leave him, ‘Dromeda. Ever. If I leave him there, then Walburga takes her fury out on him. Then she starts asking where the fuck she went wrong with me and starts shaping him up to be the perfect, Slytherin heir to the Most Noble and Fucked House of Black. If I’m not there, Regulus becomes the same as Lucius Malfoy. Just another entitled fanatic, ready to sign up with the next Dark Wizard who starts singing the right tune. But—” He took a long, labored breath. “If I’m still there, I can save him.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why?” Andromeda said again. “Why is it up to you to save him?”

Sirius shrugged, like it’s obvious. “He’s my little brother.”

Andromeda stared at him. “Am I supposed to save Narcissa, then?”

Sirius opened and closed his mouth. Rather than answering that directly, he said, “What’s the alternative then? Run away from home? Even if I left Reg behind, where the fuck would I go?” Andromeda opened her mouth, but Sirius cut her off. “If I go to you, or if you helped me, we’d both be disowned and branded proper blood traitors.”

He thought of his mother’s note, of the words BLOOD TRAITOR staring up at him in her neat, perfect handwriting. He thought of the boils that spread across his chest as he read the words, and all the horrible things those two words would mean for him.

He’d never be able to touch his brother again.

Regulus would be taught to hate him, just like his mother tried to get him to hate James Potter.

Except there was the distinct possibility that Regulus would _listen_ to their mother.

She scoffed. “I’m starting to think being disowned might not be such a bad thing. You should see some of the gits my mother expects to court me these days.”

He gave her a weak smile. “Well, I can’t risk all that. Whatever you’re suggesting, I can’t, ‘Dromeda. Not now. Not with Reg still stuck there.”

Andromeda nodded, seeming to understand. “Then hold your head high and remember why you chose to be cursed instead of run away, my brave, sweet Gryffindor,” she whispered. “I’ll be there for you, afterwards, you know. Ted’s got the best healing potions I know of.”

He nodded, stiffly. He didn’t want to think about healing potions right now.

“Have you written to Regulus?” Andromeda asked, gently.

Sirius cringed. He hadn’t exactly known what to say, though he expected his mother filled Regulus in on his Sorting. “No,” he said.

“You should,” she replied. “He’d probably scared.”

“Scared?” Sirius hadn’t thought of that.

“He’s been listening to your mother scream for two days.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, reluctantly. “She wrote me a letter and called me a blood traitor.”

Andromeda nodded. “See? Reg’s probably been listening to all the things she thinks are unfit for actual letters and are best said in person. He’s bound to be terrified. He cares about you, Siri.”

“I know. I’ll write to him as soon as I can.”

“Good,” she said. Then, she clapped her hands together and stood. “Now, I best be off. I told Ted I’d stop by before I head back to the Ministry. Oh, Merlin, we didn’t even eat and I… hm.”

Andromeda trailed off and stared at Hagrid’s untouched rock cakes on the table.

“Are those even edible?” Sirius asked.

“Not particularly,” she said. “Best not hurt Hagrid’s feelings, though. It was kind of him to let us use his hut.”

With a flick of her wand, the rock cakes levitated into the hearth. To Sirius’s horror, she had to stoke up the flames quite a bit to get them to burn and, even when they did, they only glowed like coals.

Spot jumped down from Sirius’s lap and curled up in front of the fire.

Andromeda reached into her robes and pulled out a vial. “Here,” she said, handing it to Sirius. “This is one of Ted’s. All the nutrition and calories of a full meal. Tastes kind of like herring, but it’ll hold you over.”

Sirius eyed the vial, but took it and downed it in one go. “Thanks, ‘Dromeda,” he said, trying to hide his grimace.

“You’ll be alright?” she asked.

“I will be, while I’m here,” he replied, with a shrug.

She nodded. “Owl me if anything comes up. I’d love to see you again before the hols. Ted would too. We could meet up here again, until you’re old enough to visit us in Hogsmeade.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Sirius said, relieved to not only have her on his side, but to have her close.

Andromeda stepped forward and pulled him into another bone-crushing hug. Sirius dug his fingers into her robes and held on.

“I love you,” she said. “Be careful, yeah?”

“I will.”

“The fates never wanted you in Slytherin, Siri,” she said with a sad smile. Andromeda planted a kiss on his forehead. “My braveheart, Gryffindor”

 

                                                                                                    

 

Sirius couldn’t help but mull over Andromeda’s words as he trudged away from Hagrid’s hut, a little reluctant to go back to the castle just yet.

_My braveheart, Gryffindor._

He wasn’t brave.

He hadn’t been brave enough to tell Andromeda about his dying wand.

At the thought of his wand, Sirius froze, mid-step. He turned away from the castle, back towards Hogsmeade and the Forbidden Forest.

The Whomping Willow wasn’t exactly hard to identify. Even as a sapling, it towered over the surrounding trees and shrubs. Its ash-grey branches flayed wildly at a figure sitting cross-legged, just out of reach of the longest limbs.

“Remus?” Sirius said, genuinely surprised.

Remus jumped and turned to face him, nearly twisting into the Whomping Willow’s reach, but he easily ducked out of the way of a stray branch. Outside, in the noon sun, his scars were pale, barely perceptible lines across his face. His eyes glowed a brilliant amber and looked just a little panicked at having been caught in the presence of the Whomping Willow.

“What are you doing here?” Sirius asked.

Remus shrugged, in a clear effort to seem nonchalant. “James and Peter had that picnic,” he said, fiddling with the corners of his jumper. And, really, thought Sirius, it was much to warm to be wearing a jumper. “They decided to go swimming in the lake, and I…”

Remus trailed off and gestured helplessly at his face. He refused to meet Sirius’s eyes.

It took Sirius a minute to catch on. “Ah,” he said, as gently as he could manage. “Scarred all over, huh?”

Remus gaped at him, alarmed. “What?! No, I—”

“Don’t worry,” Sirius said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to pry, I swear. I just…” He searched for the right words. “I know the feeling. That’s all.”

Remus stared at him for a long, uncomfortable minute. Then, he gestured to the spot next to him. Cautiously, Sirius sat down next to him, just out of the Whomping Willow’s reach. After a few more minutes of silence, Remus mumbled, “At least your marks go away.”

 _No_ , Sirius thought, absently rubbing his tattoo through his shirt. _Not all of them_. There was a tattoo on his chest, right above his heart, that read _Toujours Pur_. He’d rather drop dead of Dragon Pox than let anyone see it.

He didn’t dare say any of that out loud.

The two boys sat in silence, dwelling in their respective miseries, for longer than either cared to admit. The Whomping Willow continued to swing at them, its branches groaning and creaking with each swipe, but as much as it strained and croaked, Sirius and Remus remained just out of reach.

“It never stops, does it?” Sirius said, mostly just to fill the silence.

Remus shook his head. “Hasn’t stopped trying to strangle me since I got here.” He turned to look at Sirius. “Why are _you_ here? You never said.”

Sirius shrugged. “Hagrid specifically told me to stay away from this tree.”

“So, naturally, here you are.”

“Exactly,” Sirius replied. He paused for a minute, then reached into the pocket of his robes for his wand. He held it in his lap, twirling it around, tracing the intricate sigils and patterns with his finger.

Remus watched him, a curious look on his face.

“My wand’s made from this tree, you know.” Sirius’s voice came out even and measured, despite the sinking feeling in his gut. It pained him to think about his wand, this beautiful, once powerful thing in his hand that he’d cursed and damned right along with his own soul.

“What?” Remus said, rather sharply. He looked between the wand and the tree a few times, a weird mixture of alarm and shock swimming across his face, in between his scars.

“Yep,” Sirius said. “Ollivander said it was made from an enchanted tree, just planted at Hogwarts over the holidays. This one fits the bill, unless you know of any other magical trees around?”

Remus was quiet for a moment, before he said, “No, I don’t.”

Sirius hummed in reply. “Ollivander said the tree was a guardian of a great secret.” He paused to stare down at his wand. “He said that the keeper of _this_ wand was destined to fight for the secrets he keeps, just like the tree the wand’s made from.”

“Oh,” Remus said.

“What, in Merlin’s name, could a _tree_ be keeping secret?”

Remus turned his eyes back to the Whomping Willow. “Probably something dark and horrible, I’d imagine,” he whispered.

Sirius scrunched up his face. “Why’s it got to be dark and horrible?”

“Why else would it be guarded by an enchanted tree that tries to take people’s heads off?”

Honestly, Sirius hadn’t thought of that. Or, perhaps, he’d been deliberately trying not to think about that.

“Can I…” Remus started. “Can I see your wand?”

Sirius stared at him for a second, considering. Then, he flipped the wand over in his hand and held the handle out to Remus.

Sirius watched as Remus’s amber eyes went wide. “Merlin, Sirius,” Remus said, feeling the wand in his hand. “It’s _heavy_. And…”

“And what?” Sirius asked, mildly alarmed. Could Remus sense that the wand was dying? Could he feel the Dark Magic Sirius had cast to save his little brother?

“It’s cold,” Remus said simply.

 _It’s dying_ , Sirius wanted to say, just to get it off his fucking chest, but he bit his lip. “Ollivander said…” Sirius started, trying to control the tremble in his voice, “that he’d had a hard time finding a wand core that fit with the enchanted wood. That’s why it’s all… wonky, sometimes.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. Not really. For all intents and purposes, it was mostly true, except the wand core _had_ fit, had suited him perfectly, before he’d gone and poisoned it.

“What kind of core, then?” Remus asked.

“Unicorn hair,” Sirius mumbled.

Remus gave him a small smile and handed the wand back. “Wand cores can be replaced, you know.”

“They can?” Sirius squeaked, unable to fully contain the sudden burst of _hope_ that swelled in his chest.

Remus nodded. “I read about it in a book. _The History of Western Wand-Crafting_ , or something like that. Sometimes cores—especially unicorn hair—wear out or are destroyed. The right wand-maker can forge a new core with the same wood. The tricky part is getting it to fit with the same wizard or witch. Most opt to get a new wand instead of replacing the core.”

“Yeah, well,” Sirius said, “I won’t have any luck with that. This is the only wand that even remotely obeyed me.”

“Then perhaps you should look into switching out the core.”

“How?” Sirius asked, genuinely curious. “Do I just walk up to a unicorn, pluck a strand of hair from its tail, and hope I don’t get kicked in the face?”

Remus laughed a little. “No,” he said. “Besides, if Ollivander said the wand core doesn’t fit the wood, then maybe you shouldn’t be looking for a unicorn hair at all. Wands can be made using hairs, heartstrings, or teeth from any magical creature. Maybe find one that’s a bit more comparable with the wood from an enchanted tree.”

“Huh,” Sirius said, thinking it over. “Think Hickory Dave will be up to donating a hair to the cause?”

Remus snorted. “Doubt it. You should owl Ollivander. See if he has any suggestions.”

If Sirius owled Ollivander, he’d have to explain why his wand was dying in the first place. Still, he managed a smile and said, “I’ll think about it.”

Remus held his gaze for a second, before he stood. “We should get back.”

Sirius stood as well, except he stumbled a bit on the edge of his robes and staggered towards the tree. He felt the _whoosh_ as the Whomping Willow’s branches all changed direction, converging on him. He was vaguely aware of Remus shouting his name.

On pure instinct, Sirius raised his wand, squeezing his eyes shut, anticipating the impact.

Five seconds later, he was still standing. Sirius opened his eyes.

The Whomping Willow was calm, almost frozen, save for the gentle sway of its branches.

“Holy shit,” Remus said.

Sirius lowered his wand a bit. The branches seemed to track and mimic the movement.

Then, even as the two boys continued to stare at the tree in amazement, Whomping Willow _bowed_ before Sirius’s wand.

He threw a glance at Remus, then lowered his wand completely. The Whomping Willow did not move. Hesitating slightly, Sirius took a step forward, then another, until he was standing right under the low-hanging branches. He reached out a hand, then placed it flat on the trunk.

Objectively speaking, Sirius Black had been exposed to a great number of magical artifacts, places, and people from a very young age. He was naturally attuned to the magical lifeblood that tended to course through such people and things. It is not unfair to say that he’s quite competently able to tap into that magical undercurrent from time to time, with a wave of his fingers or a flick of his wrist. That, essentially, was what wandless magic entailed, after all.

But this tree… Merlin, it was _alive_ with magic. That wasn’t what surprised him.

It was the innocence, the purity, the… latent protective fury he sensed just underneath the surface. Whatever secret the Whomping Willow guarded, it was precious— _sacred_ , almost—and worth any amount of pain and suffering so long as it remained protected.

The secret was _loved_ by the Whomping Willow. There was no other plausible way to describe it.

Sirius didn’t know how long he stood there, basking in the remarkable magic of the Whomping Willow, before he managed to pull his hand away.

Remus stared at him, about a thousand emotions flashing across his eyes. Sirius couldn’t read a single one of them and it annoyed him how much that hurt.

“Come on,” Remus repeated. “Let’s go back.”

 

                                                                                                    

 

 

That night, in detention, Slughorn left six cauldrons on his desk and a note on the chalkboard that read, _Polish all of these before you leave. No magic. I’ll know if you cheat_.

“Where’s Slughorn at, then?” James asked, selecting a cauldron and moving it to one of the desks. He wrinkled his nose at the smell.

Sirius waved his hand in front of James’s face, once again temporarily numbing his sense of smell. He repeated the spell on himself. “He has a previous engagement,” Sirius said, remembering his now-revoked invitation to dinner. “Just a few of his favorites from prominent families and what not. I was told that Malfoy and Narcissa would be in attendance. Probably guests-of-fucking honor.”

James snorted. “And look at you. The heir to House Black, stuck in detention, instead of kissing the arse of some ratty old professor and sipping fancy wine.”

“To be quite honest, I’d prefer to be here, cleaning cauldrons filled with… Merlin, what is this stuff?” Sirius cautiously poked the viscous greenish sludge adhered to the rim of his cauldron.

“Flobberworm entrails.”

Both boys turned to see Lily Evans storm into the room, grab a cauldron off Slughorn’s desk, then slam it down right next to Sirius’s. She grabbed a scrub brush, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, and got to work.

James and Sirius gaped at her.

“Careful,” Lily said, glancing at the goo on Sirius’s finger. “Get that in your eye, and you’ll go blind.”

He followed her gaze, then wiggled his fingers a bit. He didn’t quite know if she was telling the truth or having one over on him, but he wasn’t going to risk it. The flobberworm goo disappeared from his hand.

Next to him, James remained frozen, his mouth agape and catching flies. Once again, James couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Lily.

“So,” Sirius began, turning back to Lily. She ignored him. “Not only did you _get_ detention, but you got detention from Slughorn. We haven’t even had him in class yet.”

Lily continued to ignore him. She didn’t even seem bothered by the smell. She just kept scrubbing her cauldron.

Sirius slid into the seat next to her and leaned in close. “No, really, Evans. What did you do?”

Lily huffed, clearly irritated by his pestering. “I broke into the Slytherin dormitories.”

“What?!” Whatever Sirius had been expecting, it wasn’t _that_.

James looked rather gobsmacked. “Lily Evans, will you marry me?”

“Oi, Potter!” Sirius whirled back to face him, feigning betrayal. “I help you execute a truly brilliant prank that involved Malfoy running naked through a crowd, and all I get is a bunch of peas dumped on me? Where the hell is my marriage proposal?”

This, thankfully, seemed to snap James out of his Lily-Evans-induced trance. He glared at Sirius. “If you manage to break into the Slytherin dormitories without being caught, I’ll buy you a ring and snog you right in the middle of the Great Hall.”

Sirius smirked. “You’re on, mate.”

Lily looked between them. “You two are insane.”

“Thank you,” Sirius replied. “Now, Evans, I need details. How’d you do it and why?”

“I’m not telling you how,” she said, smoothly. “I know you’re a bit desperate for that kiss, Black, but I can’t make it too easy.”

“Fine,” he conceded. “Then why, in Merlin’s name, did you break into the Slytherin dormitories?”

“My friend’s in Slytherin. He was being a prat. I wanted to talk to him.”

 _Huh. Just the facts, then_ , Sirius thought. Lily shrugged, tried to play it off as casual, but Sirius could see the pain and hurt just below the surface. She wore the mask well, though. He’d give her credit for that. If he hadn’t known the act—hadn’t worn that mask a hundred times himself—he wouldn’t have noticed. James certainly didn’t.

“You have friends in Slytherin?” James asked, incredulous.

“Yes, why?” Lily shot back, defiantly. “Does that mean our brief engagement is off, Potter?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know,” James stammered, looking incredibly conflicted.

“Which friend?” Sirius said, trying to save James from embarrassing himself further.

“Severus.”

“ _Snivellus?!_ ” James said.

Lily put down her scrub brush and glared at Sirius. “You taught him that?”

Sirius shrugged. “Why was your _friend_ being a prat?”

“Why the hell should I tell you?” Lily snapped.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “You just seemed upset.”

Lily Evans seemed rather taken aback by this. “Severus has made friends in Slytherin and… They don’t like me.”

“Why don’t they like you?” James asked.

At the same time, Sirius said, “Which friends?”

Lily looked between them, trying to decide which question was safer to answer. After a second, she met James’s eyes. “I’m Muggle-born. The Slytherins seem to find that offensive.”

Sirius nodded and leaned back in his seat. “Ah, Jamie, so not only did Snivellus rat us out to Malfoy and ol’ Sluggie, but he’s actually managed to make _friends_ with the git.”

Lily flushed red. “Well, what would you do, Black? He needed friends and—”

“He needed _protection_ ,” Sirius snapped. “He’s a half-blood, isn’t he?”

“How did you—”

“I have my sources,” Sirius replied, remembering Narcissa brushing against Snape on the Hogwarts Express and her cringe of pain. “Snape needs protection, because the alternative is having Malfoy treat him just the same as he treats you. It’s all about blood purity to them.”

“And it’s not to you?” Lily shot back.

“Obviously not. I’m Gryffindor, aren’t I?”

“Fine,” Lily said. “Then shake my hand.”

 _How the hell did she possibly know about that?_ Sirius thought. He eyed her hand, knowing the pain it would cause, knowing what both her and James would think if he refused.

He shook her hand. Merlin, the pain coursed through him, like fire in his bones, but Sirius held firm, kept his gaze focused on her remarkably green eyes, and grit his teeth through it.

Much to his surprise, Lily pulled away first, with a tiny yelp. Her face scrunched up and she shook her hand.

James, suddenly a knight in shining flobberworm goo, drew his wand and pointed it at Sirius. “What’d you do?”

“N-nothing!” Sirius protested, just as shocked as James. “I didn’t do anything!”

She shouldn’t be in pain. Not from touching him. He couldn’t transfer the curse, could he? No. There was no way. Lily didn’t have a tattoo. She was Muggle-born, for Merlin’s sake. A normal, boring, incorruptible Muggle-born witch. No one held her down and branded her skin when she was eight years old.

“Potter, stop! It wasn’t him.”

“Then what was it?!” Sirius demanded, trying and mostly failing to keep the rising panic out of his voice.

Lily refused to look at them and took to staring at her hand. “A parting gift from Malfoy,” she said, her voice quiet. “He said it was to help me remember _what_ I am, at least for a few days. I didn’t notice it at first—not really—not until…” She took a shaky breath. “Not until Divination, this afternoon. Marlene was supposed to read my palm and...”

Sirius’s heart was in his throat. “It hurt when she touched you?”

Lily nodded.

 _They’ve weaponized it_. _Salazar’s balls, Malfoy’s figured out how to use the curse without the tattoo._

“I switched partners,” Lily continued. “I was fine when… When Dorcas read my palm.”

“She’s Muggle-born,” Sirius said. It wasn’t a question.

Again, Lily nodded.

“And it hurts when you touch me or probably James or when you brush up against a good number of people in the halls?” Sirius asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Touching you… hurt a _lot._ ”

 _Feeling’s mutual_ , he thought. It hadn’t been nearly as painful as touching Remus, but she was still Muggle-born. If he hadn’t been anticipating the pain, he’d have reacted just the same as she did.

James looked between the two of them. “Will one of you please just explain what’s going on?”

Sirius glanced at Lily, who nodded. “It’s a blood curse,” he said. “A temporary one, but still a blood curse.”

“What’s that mean?”

Sirius sighed, praying to the gods that he doesn’t give too much away. “It’s an old pure-blood custom. Some families… Well, they’d tattoo their kids with a mark of some kind, in a blood spell ritual. The intent was to keep their children from being able to touch anyone of a lesser blood than themselves. It’s to stop them from marrying Muggles and tainting the bloodlines, or something.”

“That’s barbaric,” Lily said, the disgust plain in her voice.

Sirius felt his throat constrict and he struggled to maintain control. “It… It is. Yours, though… Malfoy must have modified the curse, to make you feel the pain if you touch someone of a more pure bloodline.”

“So when I touch Dorcas, it doesn’t hurt, because she’s Muggle-born,” Lily said. “Like me.”

“Exactly,” Sirius said.

“How long will it last?” James asked, looking slightly pale.

“For pure-bloods, it’s the tattoo that seals the blood curse,” Sirius said. “She doesn’t have a tattoo, so whatever curse he did can’t hold long. Couple days, at most.” Then, to Lily, he said, “When did he curse you?”

“Last night,” she said. “Right after he caught me in Severus’s dorm.”

“Is there any way to reverse it?” James asked.

“Not that I know of.” Sirius sighed. Merlin, he’d give anything to be able to answer that question differently.

“I’ll look into it,” Lily said. She narrowed her eyes at Sirius and for a brief second. Merlin, it was like she’d looked into his soul and seen every dark secret that was there. “In case Malfoy tries to curse me again,” she clarified, almost as an afterthought.

“Right,” he said, a little unsure of his voice. “In the mean time, Jamie, we’ve got to find a way to get back at Malfoy.”

Without hesitating, Lily said, “I want in.”

“No!” James and Sirius shouted, a bit too quickly.

“Why the hell not?” Lily snapped, crossing her arms.

“You need to stay off Malfoy’s radar,” Sirius said, slowly. “Otherwise, he’ll just renew the curse as soon as it wears off.”

“Plus, he’s a prefect,” James said. “Even if we told someone, he’s likely to get away with it.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress, you know,” Lily spat. “I’m not yours to protect.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Sirius replied, before James could say something stupid. “Look, if you want to get back at Malfoy, I’ll help you plan an elaborate, complicated, and _anonymous_ prank that he’ll never be able to trace back to you. But this?” He gestured to her hands. “ _This_ calls for immediate action and public humiliation. James and I can take the fall for whatever happens. All it will cost us is a couple detentions and probably cause Frank to have a small aneurism, but it’ll be worth it.”

Lily seemed conflicted, warred with herself for a minute, then threw her hands up in defeat. “Fine,” she said. “But whatever you do, you’ll keep Severus out of it.”

James and Sirius exchanged a look.

“Alright,” James said.

“Good.” Lily picked up her scrub brush again. “And Potter?”

James perked up, eager for her attention. “Yes?”

“I’m afraid our break-up is still rather fresh for me. I don’t know if I’m quite ready to be friends with you just yet.”

James pouted. “What? I—”

Sirius cackled. “You’re alright, Evans.”

“Oi!” James smacked his shoulder. Sirius winced a little, but otherwise shook it off.

“Now, Jamie, about this little bet of ours,” Sirius said. “Is there a consolation snog if I break into the Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff dorms?”

 

                                                                                                    

 

**SEPTEMBER 4, 1971**

 

James and Sirius both rose early the next morning, despite the fact that it was Saturday, as James repeatedly told Sirius on their way down to the Great Hall. They spent most of the morning sipping tea—well, coffee for James—and catching up on the homework they’d put off because of their evening detentions. Peter joined them around nine, just as the last of the food was disappearing.

Two hours later, a disheveled and disoriented Remus Lupin trudged into the Great Hall, still wearing his pajamas and dressing gown. Like the day before, his unruly curly hair stuck out in almost every direction, except for the left side, which had, until recently, been comfortably pressed into his pillow. Remus took his usual seat at the table, across from Sirius, folded his arms, and went right back to sleep.

The three boys stared at him, then at each other. After a second, Sirius summoned a kettle and poured a cup of tea. “Wake him up,” he said to James.

As carefully as he could, James nudged Remus. Remus let out a long groan, then sat up, his eyes still closed.

Sirius slid the cup of tea across the table. Remus grabbed it and took a long drink.

“You alright, mate?” Sirius asked, leaning in a little.

Remus was pale today and the scars on his face were pinkish and rather obvious. After taking another drink of his tea, Remus managed to nod and opened his eyes.

“Holy shit,” Sirius said.

“What?” James asked, alarmed, looking betweens the two of them, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Your _eyes_ ,” Sirius said to Remus, leaning in even closer. “They’re _gold_.”

They were, too. Deep, shimmering gold, like freshly polished jewelry left out in the sun. Sirius had never seen anything quite so inherently mesmerizing.

Remus flushed bright red and stared pointedly down at the table, even as James and Peter tried to see his eyes for themselves.

“They definitely were not gold yesterday,” Sirius said.

“Trick of the light and sleep deprivation,” Remus mumbled, still avoiding their gazes.

“Sleep deprivation?” James asked. “Mate, it’s almost noon.”

“What?” Remus said, mildly alarmed.

“Remus, are you alright?” Sirius asked again, a feeling of unease settling over him. Something was _wrong_ , something was about to happen, he was sure of it.

“I—” Remus started, then sighed. “I have to go away for a few days. I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

“What? Why?” Sirius demanded.

“For how long?” Peter asked.

“You’ll miss Quidditch tryouts!” James exclaimed, apparently quite offended by this.

“I thought first years couldn’t try out,” Peter said.

“They can’t,” James pouted. “But I figured it’d be as good of a time as any to acquaint Remus here with the wonderful world of Quidditch, before—”

“Remus,” Sirius said, his voice firm and unrelenting. James immediately shut up. “Why do you have to go away for a few days?”

Sirius regretted his tone instantly, when Remus finally looked up at him. Tears glistened in his eyes, making the gold irises dance and glitter through whatever secret Remus was keeping. Sirius’s face fell, horrified he’d made Remus look like _that_ : scared, lonely, and helpless to whatever tragedy lurked behind his scars and his golden eyes.

“M-my mum,” Remus stammered. He took a deep breath and his voice evened out. “She’s… sick. It’s just me and my dad, and he works quite a bit, so she needs my help when there’s a flare-up. She, uh. I need to go home and… and make sure she’s alright.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. It sounded like a lie, like any one of the thousands he’s told to excuse his own panic, to hide the fact he can’t touch anyone less than pure-blood, or to hide any one of the injuries he’d recently acquired. But that look in Remus’s eye… Whatever waited for Remus at home, it fucking _terrified_ him.

Sirius knew the feeling, that one of dread so powerful and overwhelming that you feel it in your bones.

His stomach turned over at the mere possibility that _Remus Lupin_ , who was so kind and wonderful and tolerant of Sirius’s secrets… that _Remus_ had to face the same kind of monster Sirius did, every time he set foot in Grimmauld Place.

“Don’t go,” Sirius said.

James and Peter turned and stared at him.

Remus made a strangled noise and ducked his head, but not before Sirius saw a tear fall down his cheek. “Sirius, I…” Remus’s voice sounded coarse and painful. “I _have_ to go. I don’t have a choice.”

“What’s wrong with your mum?” Peter blurted. Sirius shot him a glare.

Remus, however, didn’t seemed to mind the question. “It’s a Muggle thing, called lupus. There’s no cure, but she’s not dying. It’s… it’s a chronic condition and she has bad days every once in a while. Can hardly feed herself or anything, and when my dad’s not there, well. That’s why I have to go home.” He paused, tried to meet Sirius’s eyes, but quickly looked away again. “My parents, they… They talked to Dumbledore before I came to Hogwarts. He’s aware of the situation and has agreed to let me leave when I need to.”

“When will you be back?” James asked.

“Don’t know for sure,” Remus muttered. “Probably a couple of days, at least.”

“What about your classes?” Peter asked.

“Take notes for me?” Remus said, sheepishly. “Look, I’m sorry to have to ask that, but I don’t—”

“It’s not a problem,” Sirius said, quickly.

Remus looked at him and the two stared at each other for a long moment.

Eventually, James slammed his hand on the table. “Right,” he said, hesitantly “Well, Slytherin’s holding their Quidditch tryouts today. Peter and I are going to go stake out the competition. Do you two want to—”

“No,” Sirius said. A second later, Remus shook his head as well.

“Right,” James said. “Catch you later, then. C’mon, Pete.”

James and Peter left. Aside from a few Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs just a tad bit too eager for lunch, Sirius and Remus were alone in the Great Hall.

Sirius couldn’t shake the feeling that something felt _off_ , like he was staring out over a cliff with jagged rocks at the bottom, with a sudden and inexplicable urge to jump. The air between him and Remus buzzed with danger, with fear, and that horrible, indescribable scent of impending doom. From the look in his bizarrely golden eyes, Remus felt it too.

“Why can’t someone else look after her?” Sirius asked, knowing how selfish and horrible his question sounded.

“I told you,” Remus said, quietly. “There’s no one else. Has to be me.”

“Why?” It was redundant, he knew. He was grasping at straws, trying to find something—bloody _anything_ —that would convince Remus not to go. “You’re in school, for Merlin’s sake. She’s got to understand that—”

“She’s my mum, Sirius.”

“If my mother were suffering like that, I’d do a dance at her bedside and let her fucking _rot_.”

“My mum doesn’t send me curses via owl post,” Remus snapped.

“No?” Sirius shot back, his temper rising. “Did she do that to your face? Or did you really fall out of a tree?”

Remus fucking _growled_ at him.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. Sirius opened and closed his mouth. “Remus, I— Merlin, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“I know, Sirius,” Remus snapped, in between heavy breaths. Then, avoiding Sirius’s eyes and still looking rather upset, he stood. “Look, I have some things to take care of, before I leave. I’ll see you around.”

“Remus, wait—"

He was already gone.

 

                                                                                                    

 

Sirius Black did not _mope_.

Or, at least, if you asked him a week ago, he definitely did not mope. The occasional violent rampage, sure. He’d been known to break a few of Walburga’s fine china just to get back at her. And, though he’d loathe to admit it, there’s been a time or two where he’s cowered in the corner and cried his bloody eyes out, but he did _not_ mope.

Apparently, Remus Lupin was the exception to nearly every rule Sirius had, because he sure as hell was moping now.

He spent most of the day shuffling aimlessly around the castle, trying to focus on an essay or a bit of reading for McGonagall, but it was almost entirely useless. He’s pretty sure that however many coherent sentences he was able to string together ended abruptly with, “ _I’m so fucking sorry_ ” or, “ _Please, don’t go.”_ He made a mental note to rewrite them after he tracked Remus down, groveled a bit, and managed to make an adequate apology whilst still maintaining his stark opposition to Remus’s upcoming trip.

The problem was, of course, no matter where he looked, he couldn’t find Remus. 

James and Peter were no help; they spent the afternoon down on the Quidditch pitch, mostly booing and hissing at the Slytherin team. Sirius made his way into the stands, around three in the afternoon, to ask if they’d seen Remus, but they hadn’t.

Sirius distracted himself, mostly, by writing a letter to Regulus. It took him the rest of the afternoon, as he kept scribbling it out, crumpling it up, starting over, only to end the letter to his little brother by crafting some apology to Remus once again. Eventually, he settled on short and to-the-point:

 

_Reg,_

 

_I’m sure you heard the news. I’m doing alright, though, I promise. I’ve managed to make a few friends. All things considered, I’m glad this is the way it played out._

_The ceiling in the Great Hall is fucking spectacular. I can’t wait for you to see it for yourself._

_I hope you’re doing okay there, by yourself._

 

_I love you,_

 

_Sirius_

 

_P.S. If Mrs. Blanche Withers tries to read this, please tell her I respectfully said she should go fuck herself._

 

By the time dinner rolled around and Remus still hadn’t turned up anywhere, Sirius was entertaining the possibility that the castle had spontaneously decided to swallow him whole.

Remus wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye, would he?

James and Peter spoke animatedly about the Slytherin Quidditch team. “Did you see the _grip_ Malfoy had on his broom? You can’t make a single, bloody turn with a grip that tight, let alone dodge a bludger. If he handles his cock like he handles his broom, Merlin, it’s no wonder he’s—”

“Please, stop!” Peter squeaked, covering his ears.

As much as Sirius would normally love to join in a conversation regarding Malfoy’s inadequate manhood, he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the cold potatoes on his plate and his need to find Remus.

Sirius stood abruptly and headed for the dormitory. If he’s being quite honest, he’s not even sure James and Peter noticed he’d gone.

Once inside the boys’ dormitory, Sirius begins pacing. Remus wasn’t _anywhere_ , for Merlin’s sake. Even if he was, he probably didn’t want to talk to Sirius, probably wouldn’t accept an apology. He’d go off to his family, they’d _hurt_ him, maybe take him away forever, then Sirius would never get to apologize. He’d lose his first friend—the first person to believe he could be different than the expectations placed upon him by his family—just like that.

Sirius tugged his hair in frustration and sat down on the edge of his bed, suddenly trying to fight back tears. He couldn’t do this—he didn’t want do do this—without Remus.

The hangings on his bed billowed around him, and there was a slight chill coming from—

_Oh._

Sirius stared at the open window that led to the roof.

Of course, that’s where he was. In retrospect, it’s the perfect spot. Obvious, but not intuitive. Safe, but solitary.

In a random and rather unexpected bout of inspiration, Sirius went to his trunk and dug out a Honeydukes chocolate bar that he knew Regulus snuck into his trunk, despite Sirius’s insistence that he very much detested chocolate. (“You gave me stars, I give you chocolate,” Regulus had said, with a slight pout. “If you won’t eat it, make a friend.”)

_Make a friend._

Taking a breath and going over the thousands of apologies he’d worked out over the course of the afternoon, Sirius crawled out the window and onto the slated, shingled roof.

Remus sat there, his knees pulled up to his chest, a thick, wool blanket wrapped around him. He didn’t look at Sirius as he made his way carefully onto the roof. Merlin, they were up high. Gryffindor tower stood tall and proud, and overlooked most of the castle. It was a beautiful sight, really; the sun had set and cast the grounds in a dull, purplish glow. The mostly-full moon sat low on the horizon and a few stars dotted the sky.

“Hey,” Sirius said, sitting down next to Remus. Hesitating slightly, Sirius nudged him, when Remus still refused to acknowledge him. The touch didn’t particularly hurt, with that thick blanket wrapped around him, but it still stung a little. Nothing near the pain he knew he’d come to expect from touching Remus.

Sirius held out the chocolate bar. “I brought this for you.”

Finally, Remus looked at him. Merlin, his eyes gleamed, golden and perfect, in the fading light. It was eerie, really, but absolutely breathtaking. There was a ferocity in Remus’s eyes that Sirius had not anticipated, as well as a brokenness, that he’d seen so clearly earlier.

Remus took the chocolate and turned back to the stars.

“I…” Sirius started. _Merlin_ , why was this so hard? “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it and it was totally uncalled for.”

“It’s alright, Sirius,” Remus said, quietly.

“No, it’s not. No, it’s fucking not,” he snapped, before he could stop himself.

Remus blinked at him.

“Merlin, I’m sorry. Again,” he mumbled. “I’m no good at this. I shouldn’t have said that. And… And I didn’t want you to leave without being able to apologize to you, because…”

“Because?” Remus prompted.

_Because what if you don’t come back? What if they tear you apart, carve out your skin, until there’s nothing left?_

“Please don’t go,” Sirius breathed. It just came out, entirely without his permission. He slammed his eyes shut, couldn’t let Remus see the tears.

“I have to,” Remus whispered. “I’m sorry, Sirius, but I have to go.”

His mind conjured up half a dozen things he wanted to say in a fraction of a second. Dangerous things, that gave away how fucking scared he was. Things like, _No you fucking don’t have to go,_ and, _Please, Remus, you can stay here, where you’re safe, where no one can hurt you._

Then, worst of all: _I won’t let you go._

“Then…” He fought for control of his voice. “Then promise me you’ll be alright. That you won’t get hurt.”

“I—I can’t promise that.”

 _What the fuck not?_ he almost said. _Why the fuck are you going if you can’t promise me you’ll be safe?_

But then, suddenly, it all made sense.

“Is this the dark and horrible secret?” Sirius asked. “The one you can’t tell me?”

Remus was quiet for a long, drawn out moment. “Part of it, yes,” he said, and Sirius started to panic. Remus reached for him, trying to calm him, but pulled back. “Sirius… it’s not… It’s not what you’re thinking.”

Sirius _thought_ someone was hurting him, someone Remus knew was carving into his flesh like he was a Sunday roast, no mercy, no hesitation. Someone was etching those horrific scars all across his skin.

“If I went to Dumbledore and begged…” Merlin, he couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice. “Could I come with you? Just to make sure you’re safe. I’ll help with your mum, whatever you need, but could I—”

“No!” Remus snapped, his eyes flashing in momentary panic. “No, Sirius you can’t come. Not ever, do you understand?”

No, he didn’t fucking understand.

“I’ll just follow you,” he said, defiantly.

Remus’s voice was low, almost a growl. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare. Please, Sirius, it’s too dangerous.”

“I’m not scared.” _Well, not scared enough to stop me from following you_.

“You damn-well should be!” Remus shouted. Sirius froze, utterly taken aback. Remus sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. Then, in a measured voice, he said, “Why are you so convinced I’m going to get hurt?”

“Because you’re fucking terrified!” Sirius snapped, his verbal filter suddenly retiring for the evening. “Because you won’t let me follow you because it’s too dangerous. Because you have scars across your face that had to have happened somehow. Because I fucking know what its like to be surrounded by monsters trying to hurt you for no other reason than because you’re fucking _there_!”

Oh, Merlin. He hadn’t meant to say all that.

Remus looked… well, _heartbroken_ was the best word for it. “M-monsters?” he repeated.

Sirius shimmied a little closer, wanting to hug Remus, wanting to pull him into his arms and hold him so he’d never leave, but he couldn’t. Even with the blanket, it’d hurt too goddamned much. He felt utterly helpless.

“You don’t have to go,” Sirius whispered.

“Yes, I do.”

It sounded like a death sentence, like a white flag flying over a blood-stained field.

It made Sirius’s blood boil.

“No, you fucking—”

Remus glared at him, his golden eyes flashing in the pale moonlight. “Why didn’t you let James take you to Dumbledore yesterday? Why did you make us swear we’d keep that secret?”

 _Shit._ Sirius knew where he was going with this. “This is different,” he insisted.

“Is it?” Remus asked. “You made us swear to that secret because someone else would’ve gotten hurt otherwise. You chose that burden, that pain, that _curse_ , because you didn’t want us hurt in your place.” He took a breath, and a few tears streaked down his face. “Me? I don’t get that choice. I don’t get to choose to take on that burden. It’s mine to bear, whether I like it or not. But the end result is the same.”

Sirius was stunned. He took a minute to mull that over. Remus was… _forced_ into this? And if he didn’t go, then…

“You-You’re saying—” Merlin, Sirius’s voice was shaking and he couldn’t bloody stop it. “You’re saying someone will get hurt if you don’t go? Remus, who? Please, just let me help—”

“You can’t help, Sirius.” Remus fiddled with the corners of his blanket. “No one can. But I—I still have to go.”

“To keep someone safe.”

Bright, golden eyes stared straight into his soul. “To keep you safe,” Remus whispered.

 _That doesn’t make any sense,_ he desperately wanted to scream.

Instead, he gazed into Remus’s eyes, silently begging for answers. “Safe from what?”

Remus sighed. “That’s the secret, Sirius. That’s the dark and horrible secret that you can’t know. Not until…”

“Not until we’re brave enough,” Sirius breathed, echoing the promise they’d made to each other on that first night.

“Yes.”

Sirius felt his eyes welling again, this time in defeat. He _hated_ feeling helpless, and this? This just fucking sucked. He let out a breath. “Alright. Is…Is there anything I can do?”

Remus gave him a small smile and held up the chocolate bar. “Share this with me?”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Can’t. I’m allergic.”

Remus quirked an eyebrow. “You’re serious about that?”

“I’m Sirius about everything.”

This time, Remus laughed. “That is a _terrible_ joke.”

Sirius nudged him with his shoulder. “You love it.”

Initially, Remus froze at the contact, but when Sirius showed no outward sign of pain, he asked, “Why’d you have the chocolate if you can’t eat it?”

Sirius smiled. “Because my brother’s a chocolate advocate. He, too, is greatly offended that I won’t eat it. He thinks if he drops enough hints, I’ll just give in.”

“Good man, your brother.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “The very best.”

This time, Remus pressed against him, just for a second, the blanket still between them. Sirius closed his eyes, allowing himself to cherish the contact, even if it was only temporary.

After a second or two, Remus pulled away. “Does… Does that still hurt?”

Sirius shrugged. “A little. But not like it does without the blanket.”

“You still feel the… pain through clothes, though?”

“Yes. It’s worse with bare skin, but yes. Clothes don’t seem to matter much.”

He didn’t know why it was so hard to talk about this with Remus, when he’d basically spelled out the details of the curse to James and Lily in detention. They didn’t know specifics, of course, and definitely not that he bore one of those tattoos, but they knew a hell of a lot more than Remus. Sirius wanted to talk about it, wanted to tell Remus why he couldn’t touch him, but…

Remus knew about his mother. Hell, he’d sworn to keep her atrocities secret, but this…?

This was too much. He was branded by a pure-blood family, who hated people like Remus. Sirius’s very touch was cursed with an inbred darkness that went back centuries.

Remus took a substantial bite out of the chocolate, moaning a little as it melted in his mouth. “So…” He gestured to Sirius with the chocolate bar. “Whatever this is, whatever doesn’t let you touch people… it’s a curse?”

Sirius huffed. “Something like that.”

“Dark Magic?”

“No,” he said. “More like… gray magic.”

“Permanent?”

“So far.” Which, of course, meant _yes_. There was no getting rid of the words on his chest. He’d already asked around, searched through every book on blood magic in the Black family library. There was no way around the curse.

 _Andromeda found one_ , an uncharacteristically optimistic voice in his head chimed in. _She can touch Ted, and he’s Muggle-born._

He kicked himself for not asking her about that in person.

“That’s horrible,” Remus said, snapping him out of his own thoughts.

“So is whatever gave you your scars,” Sirius shot back, not knowing what else to say.

Remus pulled a face, took another bite of chocolate, and chewed slowly. “I wish…” he started, but then seemed to choke on his words.

Sirius nudged him again. “What?”

There were tears in his eyes when he looked up. One or two trailed down his scarred cheeks. “I wish the scars weren’t the first thing people see, when they look at me.”

“They weren’t,” Sirius said, with every ounce of conviction he possessed. “Not for me, anyways.”

“What?”

Sirius smiled a bit, at the memory, even though it was only from a few days ago. “I saw you from a distance, on the platform. First thing I noticed was your ridiculous hair and… and your eyes. Your eyes are…” He trailed off, because those eyes—now gold, not amber—were going to tear him to pieces. Sirius managed to shrug. “Couldn’t really make out the scars until I was sitting right next to you.”

“Thank you,” Remus whispered.

Instead of replying, Sirius leaned against him, content to stay there, close to Remus for as long as he was physically able.

It was still early—before curfew, even—when Sirius and Remus climbed back inside. James and Peter weren’t back yet, but they could hear raucous voices coming from the common room.

Walking few steps into the room, Remus yawned and stretched, the blanket pooling in a heap at his feet.

“I have to—” He stifled another yawn. “—make arrangements early tomorrow morning. I should get to bed.”

“Early for the rest of the world or early for you?” Sirius asked, not bothering to hide his smirk.

“Ten,” Remus said. “So early for everyone.”

“Ten is not even remotely early.”

“It is on a Sunday morning,” Remus argued.

Sirius went to his trunk and fished out his pajamas. “Mm, it’s still not that early,” he said. He darted into the bathroom, closed the door, and changed as quickly as he could. When he came back out, Remus was already dressed and straightening his button-down, pin-striped top.

“I’ll be up, you know,” Sirius said, trying to sound casual. “You’ll say goodbye, won’t you?”

Remus nodded. “‘Course I will. It’s only for a few days, Sirius.”

_A lot can happen in a few days._

“Remus?” Sirius said, without much conscious thought.

“Yeah?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of himself. “Will, um. Will you stay with me tonight? In my bed? You don’t have to, if it’s weird, but—”

Remus was quiet for a second, and Sirius very nearly panicked, but then, Remus smiled and said, “Yes. I’ll stay.”

They arranged Sirius’s bed like they had the first night, the covers drawn and a pillow between them. They climbed in, facing each other, and Sirius flicked his wrist to close the hangings and dim the lights.

Sirius and Remus stared at each other, far longer than either of them would care to admit. Eventually, Sirius said, “Your eyes… They glow. Did you know that? They glow like stars.”

They did. They were ethereally beautiful, and Sirius couldn’t stop staring at them, terrified that if he did, Remus Lupin would disappear entirely and the night would be frightfully dark once more.

Remus laughed softly, into his pillow. “Yeah, well. Yours look like the moon.”

Sirius reached out, almost unaware he was doing it, and traced the pattern of Remus’s scars in midair, an inch above Remus’s face. “I wish you didn’t have to go,” Sirius whispered. “You don’t deserve to fight the same kind of monsters I do.”

Remus closed his eyes tight and Sirius watched one, last tear fall down his face. A second later, miraculous golden eyes found his once more. “Everyone’s got their secrets… Their very own monsters.” Remus took in a shattered breath. “Siri, yours and mine? They tend to leave scars.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters updated every two weeks. Thanks for reading!


	5. We Didn't Start the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence and implied child abuse.

****_Andromeda,_

 

_Have you heard from Reg? I’ve sent him two letters in the last three days and he hasn’t replied. Can’t tell if he’s not speaking to me because of my Sorting, or if it’s because Warden Walburga is burning my letters._

_I need to hear from him, even if he says he’ll never speak to me again. I left him alone in that goddamned house._

 

_Sirius_

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

_Sirius,_

 

_Send me your letter to Regulus. I’ll wrap it up in one of my own and send it to him. The Warden will be none the wiser._

_He’ll be okay, Siri. He loves you._

 

_Andromeda_

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

_Andromeda,_

 

_I’ve enclosed a letter. It’s not very long, but… Merlin, I just need him to talk to me. I told him to send his reply to you._

 

_Thank you._

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

**SEPTEMBER 7, 1971**

 

On Tuesday morning, when Remus still hadn’t returned, Sirius was starting to get antsy. He kept scanning the halls, scanning the faces surrounding the Gryffindor table, desperate for a glimpse of ridiculously curly, honey-brown hair. Presently, he was silently fuming at Annalise Morkin, a second year Ravenclaw, who had short, curly hair, just a shade or two lighter than Remus’s. Every time he looked across the Hall, he caught sight of the back of her head and found himself almost calling out for Remus, only to sink back into his seat with a growing sense of dread.

Remus should have been back by now.

Merlin only knows what he’s going through.

Sirius had been trying his best to continue on as if everything were normal. James and Peter certainly didn’t think anything of Remus’s absence, though, to be fair, they hadn’t seen the fear in Remus’s eyes when he’d said goodbye to Sirius on Sunday morning. Sirius was intimately familiar with that look; he saw it in the mirror every time he remembered the punishment Walburga had in store for him when he returned to Grimmauld Place for the Christmas holidays.

Still, as long as James and Peter were going to continue to be blissfully ignorant berks about the whole thing, then Sirius vowed to try his damnedest to pretend that everything was just fucking fine. He’d insisted on taking notes for Remus in Transfiguration yesterday, even though he found McGonagall’s lecture on converting objects of a smaller mass into those of a significantly larger mass dolefully boring. But Remus had asked for notes, and Sirius was intent on delivering.

Yesterday in class, when McGonagall had come up for air, either to scold someone on improper wand motions or to write something on the chalkboard, Sirius had flicked his wrist. Peter’s quill had instantly morphed into a rather large, brass candlestick. Peter, naturally, had let the thing drop and it had made an obnoxious series of _clangs_ as it fell to the floor. McGonagall hadn’t seen Sirius cast the spell, but she’d kept a rather watchful eye on him for the remainder of the class. At one point, she’d even snatched away Sirius’s meticulous notes for Remus, because, “Taking notes and paying attention are simply out of character for you, Mr. Black,” and, “I had ever reason to believe you were passing notes with Mr. Potter.”

He’d wanted to snap back, tell McGonagall that she knew absolutely _nothing_ about his character, but he’d managed to keep his mouth shut. 

During the lesson’s practical, Sirius hadn’t managed to shake her ever-scrutinising gaze, so, just like the previous week, he’d been forced to transfigure the goose feather into a wooden spoon using his wand. Once again, his spoon came out a bit charred and bent at an odd angle, but McGonagall had deducted significantly fewer points than she had the first time. Sirius took this to mean that she’d been reluctantly impressed by his bit of wandless showmanship with Peter’s quill, though he had no doubt she was still watching his every move, just waiting for some kind of slip up.

Even now, he could see McGonagall at the head table, her face turned towards Professor Sprout, seemingly engaged in conversation, but every now and again, McGonagall would glance his way and narrow her eyes.

Just then, James sat down across from him, a wicked grin plastered on his face and his glasses slightly off-centre.

“Sirius, I’ve got it,” James said.

“Got what?”

“Merlin, pay attention, mate,” James complained, with an eye roll. “I’ve got a plan to get back at Malfoy.”

Before Sirius could say anything, a tall, fit redhead plopped down next to him and gave him a nudge. Instinctively jerking away from the contact, Sirius jumped, only to more or less crash into an identical redhead on his other side.

Sirius froze, expecting pain, but not really feeling anything more than a mild irritation at the contact. It took Sirius a full three seconds to realise he was pretty much seated in the lap of the redhead on his right. He surreptitiously shifted away, back into his place wedged between them.

The other redhead, on his left, burst out laughing. “Bet you never thought you’d be getting a lap dance from the Black heir, eh, Gid?”

“Yeah, you should be so lucky,” Sirius bit out, straightening his robes and absolutely refusing to blush.

“Bit rude, wouldn’t you say so, Gid?”

“Ah, just what I suspected, Fabian,” said the redhead called Gid.

“Another Black,” Fabian said.

“Alas,” said Gid. “Not a drop of decency or mischief in him.”

“What a waste.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. Ah, so this was a test.

James flashed him a brilliant smirk, but said nothing.

Sirius looked from one twin to the other. “Decency? Definitely not. I’m rather insulted you would think so little of me. But mischief…?”

Sirius flicked his wrist and both twins sprouted long, fuchsia pink beards that clashed violently with their red hair and freckles.

The twins exchanged a look, completely unperturbed.

“Wandless magic,” Gid said.

“Impressive, for a first year,” Fabian said. “But a coloured beard?”

“Not entirely original.”

“I can do better,” Sirius said.

“Prove it,” said Fabian.

Sirius glanced across the table to James, who gave him a half-hearted shrug. “They did this to me, too,” James said. “Show them something and then we can talk business.”

“All right,” Sirius said, again glancing between the twins. “What do you want me to do?”

“Ah, to have such a willing young disciple,” Fabian cooed, slinging an arm around Sirius. A second later, Sirius felt Gid’s arm sneak around his waist. He was, effectively, sandwiched between the twins. Remarkably, their touch didn’t hurt—not really. They must be pureblood, whoever they were.

“Ol’ Frankie’s been getting on our nerves lately,” Gid said, nodding down the table, where Frank Longbottom sat across from a pretty, blonde girl.

“That’s Alice Fortescue. She’s in our year,” Fabian said, following Sirius’s gaze.

“Frankie’s not shut up about her since she earned the points that broke Gryffindor into positive digits, all in one go,” said Gid.

“Just, Alice _this_ and Alice _that_ , these days.”

“We miss the days where he was breathing down our necks for losing house points.”

“We’ve been replaced,” said Fabian, feigning a broken heart.

“I’m afraid Frankie’s forgotten all about what a good little mischief tastes like,” said Gid.

“We’d like you to remind him. Right, Gideon?” Fabian said.

“Right.” Gid—or Gideon, it seemed—leaned in close, then whispered in Sirius’s ear, “But don’t get caught.”

Sirius took a moment to consider. Then, he leaned back, reached behind Fabian, and flicked his fingers at Frank. A few green sparks shot across the table, but not enough for anyone to notice if they weren’t already looking.

At first, nothing happened. The twins exchanged unimpressed looks. James grimaced a little.

Frank picked up his fork. It immediately turned a very specific shade of green. Sirius smirked, though he wasn’t entirely sure the twins noticed the effects of his jinx until Frank picked up his glass of pumpkin juice.

The glass, too, turned Slytherin green.

Then went his spoon and the tablecloth and his plate and a strip of bacon Frank picked up and popped into his mouth. He brushed his fingers against the sleeve of his robes and those, too, faded to green.

One by one, heads began to turn towards Frank and the expanding collection of green items around him. Frank, however, was so enamoured with Alice Fortescue, that he somehow failed to notice anything at all. Alice, too, was completely oblivious, and stared lovingly into Frank’s eyes.

On either side of Sirius, the twins snickered.

Then, it happened: Frank reached across the table, in what would have been a disgustingly romantic gesture, and took Alice Rowan’s hand.

Alice Fortescue turned Slytherin green.

For a moment, everyone was silent, waiting for Frank’s reaction.

Confused, Frank glanced down at Alice’s hand. He seemed to notice all of the green around him. He glanced helplessly around the table, noting how the people seated on either side of him seemed to back away, clearly afraid of turning green themselves.

Alice Fortescue, much to her credit and Sirius’s relief—he hadn’t meant to hurt or embarrass her, after all—held up her hands to inspect them.

“Well,” she said, cutting through the silence, “I think I look rather good in green. I bet it brings out my eyes. Wouldn’t you say so, Frank?”

Fabian and Gideon roared with laughter, each of them slapping Sirius on the back. Their uproar was echoed by the rest of the Gryffindor table.

Frank turned bright red. Looking back and forth down the table, his gaze landed on Fabian and Gideon. “Who... Who did this?” Frank demanded.

“Looks like _you_ did, mate,” Gideon said with a smirk.

Frank reached to run a hand through his hair, but seemed to decide against it. Instead, he clenched and unclenched his fists right in front of him. “I see that, _thanks_ ,” he snapped. “But who—”

“Wasn’t me or Gid,” Fabian said, honestly.

“Look at the colour, though,” James pointed out, throwing a wink at Sirius. “My money’s on the Slytherins.”

“Bloody Slytherins,” Frank growled. He stood, surveying the Slytherin table from a distance, clearly trying to discern a likely culprit.As Frank stormed towards the Slytherin table to enact his vengeance, Sirius took pity on him and flicked his wrist at Frank to reverse the jinx, lest he accidentally turn the entire castle green.

Fabian slapped Sirius on the back. “A Midas Jinx!”

“A _wandless_ Midas Jinx!” Gideon echoed.

“Haven’t seen one of those in ages.” Fabian grabbed Sirius’s hand and shook it. “Seems we’ve underestimated you, Black.”

Gideon tore Sirius’s hand away from his brother. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Fabian and Gideon Prewett,” Fabian said. “We’re mostly interchangeable, but—”

“But if you call either of us Molly—”

“They will never find your body.”

Sirius glanced between the two, then at James. “Why would I call you Molly?”

“Their older sister,” James explained.

“Ah,” Sirius said. “How do you feel about Elizabeth? Can I call you that?”

Fabian leaned back and stroked his pink beard. “Yeah, s’pose Elizabeth is fine. Though Gid here’s more of a Lizzie.”

Gideon laughed. “You’re all right, Black.”

“Sirius,” he said.

Fabian smirked and leaned over the table. “Right, then, Sirius and Potter. Looks like you’ve got yourselves a bona fide distraction.”

Gideon set a potion vial on the table. “And a few doses of Prewett’s Hiccuping Secrets.”

“Patent pending, of course,” Fabian said.

“Hiccuping Secrets?” Sirius repeated, eyeing the vial. “Merlin, I like the sound of that. What’s the plan?”

Gideon smirked and tucked the vial back into his robes. “Meet us in the Astronomy Tower, tomorrow night.”

“Don’t be late,” Fabian said, tossing Sirius a wink.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

Neither James nor Sirius were particularly looking forward to seeing Slughorn in Double Potions that morning. The night before, Slughorn had had James, Sirius, and Lily slicing grime from severed centaur hooves, supposedly to be used in today’s lesson.

“Christ,” Lily had muttered, looking more than a little green. “The centaurs better have been dead when these hooves were cut off.”

“Yes,” James had replied. “But then you’d have to wonder how they died.”

“Best not to ask questions,” Sirius had said.

Now, a small platter full of hoof shavings sat at each table. As the first year Slytherins and Gryffindors walked in, they began to pair off: Marlene with Dorcas, Lily with Snape, and the Slytherin Carrow twins together.

James moulded himself to Sirius’s side, but Sirius waved him away. “You should go with Pete,” Sirius said. “He’ll need more help than me.”

James raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Are you kidding?” Sirius asked, pretending to be insulted. “I’m practically a Slytherin. There’s a Potions Master in my veins, Potter.”

“You’re about as humble as a Slytherin,” James muttered, but he gave Sirius a smile. “You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll partner with Remus when he gets back.” Sirius glanced over James’s shoulder, at Peter. Peter, oblivious to the two of them, wandered to the far end of the room. He picked up a piece of hoof shaving and sniffed it. “Besides, it looks like Pete’s a bit confused.”

James looked over. Peter, as if on cue, stuck the hoof shaving in his mouth and nibbled on it.

“Merlin—PETER!” James shouted, rushing over.

Peter started coughing. James slapped him on the back until the hoof shaving dislodged from his throat and went flying across the room. The shaving landed in front of Snape, who looked positively revolted.

Sirius just laughed and claimed the empty bench next to James and Peter, sitting down and propping his feet up on the second chair. “First rule of Potions, Pete,” he said. “Don’t eat the ingredients.”

Peter smacked his lips, clearly trying to get the taste out of his mouth. “What _was_ that?”

James grimaced. “Probably best if you don’t know, at this point.”

“He’ll find out soon enough,” Sirius mumbled.

Just then, Sirius looked up and there was a Slytherin girl smiling down at him. She was blonde, short, and had the same high-cheekbones as any pure-blood family. Her name was Greengrass, or something. He’d seen her at a few of his parents’ gatherings, over the years, and had maybe spoken to her a few times. He’s pretty sure, at one of these gatherings, Regulus had gotten a sugar quill stuck in her hair.

“Hi, Sirius,” she said, blinking blue eyes at him beneath long eyelashes. “I still need a partner. Can I sit with you?”

Sirius shot a panicked look in James’s direction. James pulled a face, his dark eyes wide and clueless.

“My partner’s out for the day,” Sirius said, quickly, after his silent exchange with James amounted to absolutely nothing. “Um, sorry…?”

Merlin, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember her first name.He got the distinct impression she would not take kindly to being referred to as _Ms. Greengrass_.

“Kayla,” she said, looking a little hurt. “Kayla Greengrass.”

“Right,” he replied, trying to look sheepish. “Sorry.”

Kayla Greengrass sulked to the other side of the room and sat in an empty bench, by herself.

“Where’s your boyfriend, Black?” Severus Snape sneered, leaning across Lily Evans.

Lily Evans cuffed Snape upside the head. It seemed that Malfoy’s curse had mostly worn off, at least.

Snape ignored her completely. “Did he get those scars before or after he learned he’d have to spend the next seven years sharing a dorm with you? Because if I were him, I’d want to claw my face off too.”

Sirius felt his blood start to boil. He stood and drew his wand, even before he had a conscious thought about doing so. James wasn’t far behind him. They both pointed their wands at Severus Snape.

Snape stood up and drew his own wand.

Lily grabbed his arm. “Severus, _sit down!_ ”

Snape shook her off and sent a jinx flying towards James and Sirius. They easily dodged it, but Peter yelped and ducked under the table to avoid further crossfire.

Snape didn’t seem too bothered that he missed. “Do your parents know about him yet, Black? That you’re making eyes at a scarred, half-blood _fag_?”

“Hey!” James said, affronted. “Remus isn’t a—”

“At least I didn’t bend over for Lucius-fucking-Malfoy the second I was sorted into Slytherin, eh, Snivellus?” Sirius said.

“Sirius!” Lily hissed.

Sirius ignored her. “Does my cousin know about your sordid arrangement? I should probably tell you that Cissa is definitely the jealous type.”

Snape flushed bright red. In an instant, he shoved past Lily Evans and punched Sirius in the face.

There was a very distinct crunch of bone and pain erupted from Sirius’s left cheek.

Sirius blinked a few times and tenderly felt his cheek. He was dazed, and maybe a little out of it. Everything played out in slow motion, as if everyone in the room seemed to forget how to transition from frozen to animated once again. Half the class was on their feet, Gryffindors and Slytherins pointing their wands and shouting at each other. Lily Evans used all her meagre bulk to keep James from tearing Snape a new one.

Sirius felt a vague and disembodied swell of pride for James: his wild hair all over the place, glasses askew and very nearly slipping from his nose, and wand drawn, trying desperately to aim a curse around Lily without hitting her in the process. It was still a rather new feeling, having someone who’d defend him, even though Sirius hardly thought he needed defending in this particular circumstance. He didn’t know if it was stupidity or some form of loyalty that stemmed from their newfound friendship that made James want to defend him without question. Perhaps it was just Gryffindor bravery, plain and simple, or that urge to win the fight first and worry about the consequences later.

Or, maybe it was that wild and dangerous instinct to protect, avenge, and destroy any threat. That little zing of unhindered fury that Sirius felt when Snape called Remus a fag, or that fire that boiled in his veins when he’d seen Auclair’s fingers wrapped around Regulus’s throat.

Sirius didn’t know what to call it—loyalty, rage, or, perhaps most terrifying, _love—_ but it was dangerous. Powerful. That instinct made him do stupid things, without hesitation.

His ears rang, drowning out most of the commotion around him, and images kept flashing before his eyes: Regulus, on his knees, gasping for breath, bruises already forming around his throat; his father’s face, as he told Sirius he was _proud;_ Remus, on the train, brilliant amber eyes smiling at Sirius like he was actually worth the effort; Remus, sitting cross-legged in front of the Whomping Willow, staring up at the tree like it held the answers to the universe; Remus, on the roof, gold eyes shimmering in the moonlight and glistening with tears, absolutely fucking terrified of whatever monsters awaited him.

Merlin, Sirius prayed to every deity that might still care that Remus was all right.

Vaguely, he became aware of a pair of hands on his face that were definitely not his own. Sirius blinked and, bit by bit, Kayla Greengrass came into focus.

“Sirius?” she said, her eyebrows pinched together. “Sirius, are you all right? You’re bleeding.”

Her fingers carded through his hair and Sirius jerked out of her reach. Her touch didn’t hurt—Kayla Greengrass was about as pure-blooded as they come—but he didn’t particularly care for the fact that she’d had her hands on him without his permission. It was different with James or even the Prewetts. Those were normal, casual bits of physical contact, nothing out of the ordinary between friends. Despite the pain, Sirius appreciated that he was included in that. It meant that they considered him their friend.

With Kayla Greengrass, _touching_ meant something entirely different. She wanted his attention—fucking craved it, judging by the hurt look on her face—and he didn’t want to give it to her.

She was pure-blood. She was Slytherin. She was his future on a plate.

She was everything Sirius would do anything not to become.

Sirius shook his head, to clear it of intrusive thoughts. He waved Kayla away, even as she took another step towards him. A bit of blood trickled down his cheek, until it reached the corner of his lips. He tasted iron and, little by little, Sirius returned to the present.

Everyone was shouting.

Cautiously, he prodded his cheek. There’d been a definite crack, when Snape had hit him. Sirius was convinced Snape had broken his cheekbone, but _no_ , it didn’t hurt enough for that. He down at his body, trying to figure out where else Snape had hit him and when and how he’d done it without Sirius noticing.

It took him a solid few, dazed seconds to realise he wasn’t the one with the broken bone.

Sirius _laughed_.

One by one, the crowd fell silent, and all eyes turned to him.

From his place behind a furious and rather imposing Lily Evans, Snape was _livid._ He held his right hand close to his chest.

“How’s the hand, Snape?” Sirius smirked. It hurt, what with the bruise forming on his face and all, but it was worth it.

“It’s _fine_ ,” Snape growled.

“Really?” Sirius held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Go like this, then.”

Snape didn’t move.

“See, when you hit someone in the face, you’ve got to angle your hand just right, or you’ll break something,” Sirius said. “I’d be happy to show you, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t be a fair fight, since you’ve already broken your hand.”

Lily turned her attention away from James and reached for Snape. “Severus?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Snape snapped, shoving her away with his good hand. Lily looked hurt.

“Better get to the hospital wing, Snape,” Sirius said.

“This isn’t over, Black,” Snape growled, heading for the door.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sirius called after him. “Same time next week?”

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

Sirius didn’t bother healing the dark bruise and small cut on his face. He knew, in theory, that he could perform the spell—even wandlessly—without much of a hiccup. He’d spent the past few days, since Remus left, touching up on his healing spells. He’d always been pretty good at them, having grown up in Grimmauld Place, and all. He hadn’t had an opportunity to actually _practice_ any of the spells recently, but he’d been idly mimicking the wand movements with his fingers and wrist at ever available opportunity.

The fact was, Sirius could very easily heal himself without so much as a second thought.

If Sirius was being honest, he’d reluctantly cop to the fact that he _liked_ walking around the castle with a black eye. He liked the attention it gave him. He liked that it made him look tough. Gryffindors were supposed to be tough, right?

Of course, it had absolutely nothing to do about the fact that Sirius _loved_ telling anyone and everyone that Snivellus had broken his fucking hand trying to rough him up. All Sirius had was a little bruising and swelling. Nothing he wasn’t used to already.

Or, maybe he liked the fact that, for once, he didn’t have to lie about where the bruising and swelling came from.

Either way, Sirius refused to heal the bruise and wore it like a badge of honor.

After lunch, a few first year students gathered outside the Ancient Runes classroom, waiting for Professor Idunn to open the door. Lily Evans stood, clutching her books against her chest, and stared at the door. Sirius smirked, then leaned against the wall next to her.

Lily sighed and looked him up and down, her eyes zeroing in on the bruise on his face. “You shouldn’t have provoked him like that,” she admonished, but there was no real fight in her voice. She sounded resigned.

“Hey, he started it,” Sirius said. “He called Remus a—”

“I know,” Lily snapped. “I heard him. You were an arse, too, Sirius Black, but I heard what he said.”

Lily bit her lip and averted her eyes. She was… upset. She looked like she wanted to cry.

Sirius shifted, uncomfortably. For all his numerous lessons on etiquette and decorum with the best tutors money could buy, Sirius had no idea how to handle a crying girl.

“Would it help if I asked how he was doing? No permanent damage to his hand or anything, is there?”

Lily scrubbed a hand over her face and Sirius thanked his lucky stars that no actual tears fell. “Do you care?”

He shrugged. “Not particularly.”

She nodded, like that was the answer she was expecting. Sirius turned to leave her alone, maybe to go talk to Dorcas, or something, when Lily grabbed his arm.

Merlin, it burned. In an instant, he jerked away, nearly throwing her off balance as he did so.

“Fuck, sorry.” He reached out, as if to steady her, but definitely did not touch her. “I just…”

He prayed she’d chalk it up to concern for Malfoy’s curse on her, not because he was in pain himself, from touching her.

Lily gave him a weird look, but waved it off.“Sirius?”

“Yeah?” he replied.

“You…” She hesitated, clearly not comfortable with whatever it was she had to say, but she pressed on all the same. “You said Severus went to Malfoy for protection.”

“Yeah, I did,” he said, remembering that first night in detention with her and James.

“Because he’s a half-blood,” she continued.

“Yes,” he said.

“Because if he didn’t ask for protection, Malfoy would treat him like he treated me.”

“Yes.”

“And you think that makes Severus a coward?”

He wasn’t prepared for that question, but he immediately knew the answer to it. He opened and closed his mouth, then nervously ran a hand through his hair.

“I, um. Yes. I do,” he said, eventually, as if he had any authority to speak on cowardice.

Lily raised an eyebrow. “I suppose that makes you the hero then?”

Sirius laughed, rather like a madman. “Definitely not. And if I ever give you that impression again, you have my full permission to punch me in the face. You look like you could do a better job of it than Snivellus.”

This seemed to brighten her spirits considerably. “You bet your arse I could,” she muttered. After a moment, she sobered. “I won’t have you going after him, Sirius. I will not allow it. Severus is my friend. You don’t get to treat him like—”

“Malfoy?” Sirius supplied.

“Yes, like Malfoy. Severus isn’t like that. I don’t care what you say.”

On the one hand, he admired her loyalty. Until a few days ago, Sirius would have killed for a friend like Lily Evans. On the other hand, Sirius knew _exactly_ what kind of person Severus Snape was. He’d been around people like Snape his whole life: wizards just shy of pure-blood, cozying up to the nearest Ancient House to serve as their judge, jury, and executioner, so the pure-bloods could keep up the illusion that their hands were clean.

Sooner or later, Snape would realise any association with Muggle-borns merely jeopardised his relationship with the blood-purists. He’d turn on Lily Evans, one way or another.

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to hold her hand and tell her she was too good for Severus Snape and that whole Slytherin gang. She didn’t deserve their prejudice.

But really, who was Sirius Black, a pure-blood pariah himself, to talk to a Muggle-born about the fates and inevitable destinies of those who align themselves with Ancient Houses?

“I won’t start anything, Evans. Even if he comes after me,” Sirius said, eventually.

She held his gaze for a long second and he could tell she understood the half-promise for what it was.

“You really mean that?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And if, hypothetically, he were to go after someone else?”

“I won’t allow it,” he said, simply, throwing her words back at her.

Slowly, she nodded.

A second later, her attention was no longer on him, but on Severus Snape, who had just rounded the corner, a brace on his right arm.

“Severus!” Lily cried, running to him and immediately wrapping him in a hug.

Reluctantly, and clearly cautious of his surroundings, Snape hugged her back, but really, Sirius couldn’t be expected to pay any attention to the two of them because right behind Snape was _Remus_.

Remus.

Remus, who looked like he’d recently been run over by the Hogwarts Express, then left to the carrion birds for a few days.

Remus, whose eyes were nearly as purple as Sirius’s shiner, whose hair was rumpled and a little bit greasy, who walked like every step caused him unimaginable agony.

For a second, Sirius thought he was going to lose his lunch.

Then, he rushed to Remus’s side, his hands flailing about, desperate, yet unable to touch, to soothe, to _hug_ like Lily was so unfairly able to hug Snape.

“Hi,” Sirius said, rather stupidly. Then, his hand darted out, entirely without his permission, and grabbed Remus’s.

_Holy fucking mother of Merlin—_

Remus jerked away at the same time Sirius did, both of them giving small cries of pain.

For a second, they just stared at each other, brilliant amber eyes into silver.

“Hi, Sirius.” Remus’s voice sounded scratchy, as if it hadn’t been used in several day.

“How’s your mum?” Sirius managed, after a few, uncomfortable moments of just _staring,_ because, _Merlin,_ how could he possibly be expected to look away?

Remus leaned against the wall, in what Sirius prayed was a casual attempt at nonchalance, instead of a last-ditch effort to keep himself upright.

“Fine,” Remus said. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I mean, she’s good. Really good. It was nice to see her.”

“And… How are you?”

Sirius didn’t know what else to say. He looked Remus up and down, trying to assess the damage underneath Remus’s long, baggy robes. There _was_ damage, of that Sirius was certain. Remus had both arms folded across his mid-section and he was a bit hunched over. That probably meant a broken rib, or two—perhaps only cracked, if Remus was lucky, but given how short of breath he seemed to be, Sirius wasn’t counting on it. Remus was pale, too, which probably meant he’d lost a lot of blood. Sirius figured it was a safe bet to assume Remus had a few brand new scars to add to his collection.

“‘M fine, too.” Remus yawned, nearly collapsing in on himself while doing so. “Been sleeping most of the day actually, but when Snape came in, Madam Pomfrey said I could go back to class.”

It took a full minute for Remus’s words to register. Sirius felt himself go pale. Remus seemed to realise what he’d said a second later, and both boys stared at each other.

“I didn’t mean—” Remus started.

At the same time, Sirius said, “You were in the hospital wing?”

“No!” Remus nearly shouted, his eyes flashing a bit. “I mean—fuck. Yes, Sirius, I was. But I’m fine. I promise. Just a bit tired.”

Remus was _lying_. He was lying and he was hurt, and someone had done this to him, _goddamnit._

Remus told him it was a monster, that had done this to him. But he’d been _home_ , with his mum, for Merlin’s sake. What kind of—

Sirius shook his head, his temper flaring. He knew _exactly_ what kind of monster would do this to their child.

“You’re not going back there,” Sirius growled, low enough so only he and Remus could hear.

Remus made a small, choked noise and his face contorted in pain. “Sirius—”

“No, Remus! Someone did this to you. You’re not—”

Suddenly, all Sirius could see was Remus’s brilliant, amber eyes, glistening with tears. “Can we do this later, Siri?” Remus whispered, his voice cracking mid-sentence. “I can’t...” He glanced around at the other students. “I can’t do this right now.”

Sirius deflated immediately. “Okay. Okay, I’m sorry. Let’s get you inside. Can you, um. Can you walk?”

Remus shot him a petulant glare. “I walked all the way here, didn’t I? Down two flights of moving stairs, I might add.”

To prove his point, Remus stood up straight. He swayed a bit and Sirius almost reached out for him, but Remus caught himself with a palm flat against the wall. “Come on, Sirius,” Remus managed. “Let’s go to class.”

 

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Sirius couldn’t stop fidgeting.

He’d thought it would be better, having Remus back, instead of the thousands of horrible scenarios of what Remus might be going through, but it was just the opposite. Now, he’d seen the damage, or enough of it to know that whatever had happened to him, it was far worse than Sirius had imagined. Far worse than what his parents typically put him through.

Walburga Black did not leave visible marks, save for one.

Remus hadn’t denied it, that day by the Whomping Willow, when Sirius had assumed he was scarred all over. Even knowing that, Sirius hadn’t done a goddamned thing to stop Remus from leaving.

Professor Idunn gave a long and exuberant lecture about the origins and basics of ancient Nordic runes. As she talked and flailed her hands about, the chalk behind her traced out each symbol and its meaning. Every student, save for Sirius and Remus, frantically scribbled down notes, just trying to keep up.

About ten minutes into class, Remus started to nod off. Sirius poked him with his ballpoint. Remus jerked back awake and hit his knees on the underside of the desk, which made him hunch over and suppress a groan of pain. Sirius shot him an apologetic look. Thankfully, nobody seemed to notice, save perhaps Lily Evans. Professor Idunn didn’t even pause for a breath.

Fifteen minutes into class, Remus slumped over his desk, a small moan of pain slipping from his lips. This time, a few more heads turned, including that of Severus Snape.

Sirius began to panic. “Remus,” he hissed, leaning as close to him as he could without touching.

Remus groaned in reply and cracked one eye open to stare at Sirius. His face was deathly pale and his scars stood out, pink and gnarled, as if they were brand new.

“I think you need to go back to the hospital wing,” Sirius whispered.

“‘M fine, Sirius,” Remus muttered. “Just need to sleep.”

Remus laid his head down and folded his arms over his eyes to block out the light.

“We’re in class, Remus,” Sirius said.

“Don’t care,” came the muffled reply. “Take notes for me.”

Sirius _tried_. Merlin, he tried to pay attention, but it was nearly impossible, what with Remus moaning in pain every few minutes. As it turned out, his internal radar only had eyes and ears for Remus Lupin, and Remus most certainly was not _fine._

Five minutes before class was supposed to end, Professor Idunn finished her lecture and dismissed them, demanding, in a final dramatic frenzy, that they memorise the basic structure of the Nordic alphabet for next class.

Sirius poked Remus with the ballpoint again. Most of the students had cleared out, by the time Sirius managed to actually get Remus to wake up. If anything, Remus looked even more exhausted than he had before class. His face was eerily pale and the bags under his eyes looked more like black and blue bruises by the second. Remus wheezed a bit with every intake of breath.

“C’mon, Remus,” Sirius said, quietly. “Let’s stand up and get you out of here.”

Remus stood, hunched over and swaying a bit. He planted both hands on the desk to steady himself and Sirius very nearly had a stroke.

There was _blood_ on Remus’s hands.

Fresh blood. Remus’s blood.

It wasn’t just a little. It was fucking _everywhere_ , dark and red and thick, and from the looks of it, flowing from open wounds hidden by Remus’s sleeves.

Sirius couldn’t tear his eyes away from the blood. He’d read about injuries like that before: cuts on the wrists, usually from—

“My, my,” Snape said, his eyes tracking over Remus. “Tried to off yourself already, Lupin?”

_No. No. No. No._

_That couldn’t be it. Merlin, please, no. Remus wouldn’t do that. Remus wouldn’t—_

_Well, what would you do, to escape that kind of pain?_ said a dangerous and disturbingly logical voice in Sirius’s head.

_No, shut up._

Remus glanced down at his hands and saw the blood. “Fuck you, Snape,” Remus muttered, but there was absolutely no fight in his voice.

“I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be brave,” Snape said. “Nothing brave about taking the easy way out.”

_No. No. No. No._

Sirius’s eyes flashed as he whirled on Snape. Sirius raised his hand, his magic dancing in fiery sparks between his fingers. “Keep talking, Snape. I dare you.”

“Careful, Black. Don’t let him _bleed_ on you. You don’t want to upset your delicate, pure-blood sensibilities. He might infect you with something,” Snape sneered.

If it were possible, Remus paled even more.

“That’s it, you piece of shit,” Sirius snarled, ready to aim the first hex that came to mind right at Snape.

“Sirius!” Remus hissed, putting up a hand. Blood dripped onto the desk and Remus pulled his hand back.

Just then, Lily Evans threw her book at Snape. It hit him in the head and he let out a rather gratifying yelp.

“Severus, get out!” Lily yelled. Her face was nearly as red as her hair and she was absolutely fucking furious.

Sirius realised he’d never fully appreciated Lily Evans until that moment.

Snape’s attention immediately snapped to Lily and his face fell. “Lily, I’m—”

“ _Get out!_ ”

Sirius was starting to understand why James had been so quick to propose to her.

As soon as Snape was out of the room, Remus collapsed back into his seat.

For a moment, Lily and Sirius just stared at him.

“Remus?” Lily started, taking a step towards him and crouching next to his chair. “You’re bleeding, love.”

Remus scoffed and shot her a wry smile. “You noticed that, huh?”

Sirius gathered both his and Remus’s books and shoved them in his bag. “We’re taking you to the hospital wing.”

“No, Sirius.”

Sirius gestured at his hands. “But—”

Remus glared at him. “I said _no._ ”

Sirius’s face fell. He couldn’t keep the pleading notes out of his voice.“Remus—”

“A bathroom, then,” Lily said, cutting in, glancing between the two of them and effectively shutting Sirius up. “Let’s get you to a bathroom, so we can wipe up the blood, yeah?”

“All right,” Remus agreed.

Reluctantly, Sirius nodded. He grabbed Remus’s bag and threw it over his shoulder, along with his own.“Can you stand?”

“Yes.” Remus did, with one arm curled protectively around his ribcage.

Remus almost made it out of the classroom, before stumbling. Lily and Sirius weren’t far behind and both of them lunged to catch Remus, but Sirius pulled back, furiously reminding himself that he could not fucking _touch_.

“Come on,” Lily said, ducking under Remus’s free arm. “I’ll help. It’s okay to lean on me.”

Remus gave her a weak smile. “Thanks,” he managed, through a laboured breath. “Mind the ribs, yeah?”

Lily nodded and wrapped her arm around him. Together, they began to slowly make their way down the hallway, towards the toilets. Sirius trailed a few steps behind, completely and utterly useless.

“Christ, Sirius, get over here and help. He’s tall. And heavy,” Lily groaned, trying to support Remus’s weight without jostling his ribs.

“He can’t help,” Remus said, quickly, before giving a small yelp when Lily’s shoulder jabbed uncomfortably into his side.

“Why the fuck not?” Lily snapped.

Sirius’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected her to so blatantly swear like that. If the circumstances were even remotely different, he’d be impressed. He jogged forward a few steps.

“I, um—”

“He has a thing about germs,” Remus wheezed out.

_Germs?!_ Sirius mouthed to Remus, over Lily’s head and out of her line of sight

“Germs?” Lily said, incredulous. She looked between the two of them, best she could, as she continued to shuffle Remus down the hallway.

“Germs,” Remus repeated. He glared pointedly at Sirius.

“That’s right,” Sirius managed. “I, er. Don’t like to touch people.”

“Can’t you—” She adjusted her grip around Remus’s waist. “Can’t you make an exception?”

“Er, no. Sorry.”

Merlin, she didn’t know. She didn’t fucking know he’d give _anything_ just to help. Remus was in pain, goddamnit, and he needed someone—he needed _Sirius_ —to help him, to hold him up, to make sure he didn’t bleed to death in the second floor corridor.

Sirius didn’t think he’d ever hated his mother or the tattoo on his chest more than right _now_.

“Then learn a goddamned levitating spell, Black,” Lily growled. They’d reached the boys’ toilets. “Open the door, Sirius.”

He did. After Lily helped Remus in and propped him against the far wall. Remus folded both his arms across his middle and sat with his legs straight out, drawing in slow, measured breaths. Sirius followed, confirming with a sigh of relief, that the room was empty, save for the three of them. He threw both his and Remus’s bags down by the door.

“Right,” Lily said, backing away once she was relatively certain Remus wasn’t going to fall over. “I’d better get back to…” She made a vague hand gesture.

“It’s all right, Evans,” Sirius said. “Go find Snape.”

Lily nodded, then glanced between the two of them. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yes,” Remus said, his voice a bit stronger, now that he was no longer standing. “Thank you, Lily.”

“Right,” she said again. She pointed a rather threatening finger at Sirius. “You. Help him, goddamnit.”

Then, she left.

Remus blinked up at him, his head lolling against the wall, his amber eyes tired and resigned. After a long moment, Remus erupted into a coughing fit. His hands shook, as he calmed down, but the steady stream of blood that Sirius had seen in the classroom seemed to have slowed. What blood remained on Remus’s hands was slowly drying into a burnt-amber crust. Whatever had made Remus’s wrists bleed, he filed away for later. So long as Remus wasn’t in immediate danger of bleeding to death, Sirius would deal with his ribs and his laboured breathing first.

Sirius knelt down next to him, as close as he dared without actually touching him.

“Show me,” Sirius demanded, gesturing to Remus’s chest.

Remus glared at him. “Sirius—”

“Don’t you fucking dare tell me you’re fine, Remus.”

“I swear, I’m—”

“So help me, I will vanish your damn clothes.”

Remus scoffed. “You couldn’t do a levitating spell, but you—”

“Levitating spells require a functioning wand and a certain degree of focus, neither of which I have in abundance at the moment. Plus, I don’t know if something’s broken or what and if I levitate you without knowing, I could make it worse. Vanishing spells…” Sirius held up his fingers and tossed Remus a half-hearted wink. “That’s just a flick of the wrist.”

“No.”

“Your ribs are either broken or bruised. I need to see which, before I can fix it.”

Remus’s eyebrows knit together. He coughed softly. “You know healing spells?”

Sirius legitimately laughed at that. “Are you kidding? Healing spells were the first thing I taught myself.”

Remus looked over at him, his eyes wide and compassionate, like Sirius was the one who was hurt, like Sirius deserved pity, like Sirius was the one bleeding on the bathroom floor.

“No, shut up. This is about your horrifying injuries, not mine. Let me heal you. Please, Remus. I’m pretty good at the spells, even wandless, I swear. But I need to see what’s wrong, so take off your goddamned shirt.”

Remus shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. “I-I can’t, okay? Sirius, I can’t—”

Sirius could have screamed. Instead, he squeezed his eyes closed and leaned imperceptibly closer. “I already know you have scars and I don’t fucking care, okay?” he whispered. “I’m not going to hate you or laugh at you or whatever the hell you think I’m going to do. You know where I come from and you know what my mother does to me. I don’t care about scars, Remus.”

Two tears slipped down Remus’s face, tracing over the pink indentations of his scars before dripping onto his robes. “Okay,” he managed.

Remus leaned back and sat up a bit straighter. His bloody hands shook as long fingers undid the buttons on first his robes, then his shirt, until they both hung open.

For the life of him, Sirius couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Remus’s chest was littered with purple and black bruises. His shirt hung open, barely wide enough for Sirius to see a majority of the old scars, though there was jagged scar one that ran the entire length of Remus’s torso, from just below his collarbone to where it disappeared beneath the hem of Remus’s trousers. Zigzagged lines of fresh scrapes and nicks covered the bruises on his ribcage. A few of the cuts still oozed blood, but, for the most part, they were superficial. Nothing in comparison to that old, horrendous scar.

Sirius swallowed his building terror and forced himself to focus on the fresh cuts and bruising. “Merlin, Remus, why didn’t Pomfrey heal these?”

Remus at least had the decency to look a little guilty. “I didn’t tell her about them.”

“Why the fuck not?!”

Remus huffed and glared at him. “You know why. Same reason—”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Same reason I wouldn’t let James take me to Dumbledore.”

“Yes.”

Sirius hovered his hand above Remus’s ribcage, focusing instead on the task at hand. “Have you coughed up any blood? Or mucus? Or, really anything you shouldn’t be coughing up?”

Remus, apparently, was not prepared for the rather abrupt subject change. “What?”

“I need to know if your ribs are broken.”

Remus shook his head. “Um, no. Haven’t coughed anything up.”

“Good. Anything sticking out anywhere?”

“No.”

“Okay. Nothing’s broken.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that your expert medical opinion?”

“I could take you back to Pomfrey, if you’re so concerned.”

“No,” Remus growled.

“Then will you let me heal them?”

Remus squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. “Sure you won’t fuck it up?”

Sirius Black was sure of no such thing. Instead, he asked the more important question: “Do you trust me?”

After a long moment, Remus blinked up at him and nodded. “S’pose so, yeah.”

Sirius flicked his fingers, calling up his magic to dance between them. Then, pointing his finger at Remus’s chest, he whispered, “ _Episkey.”_

Remus drew in a sharp breath, but one by one, the bruises faded to green, then yellow, then disappeared altogether. When they were gone, Remus almost doubled over in relief.

Sirius had been trying his damnedest to not think about the state of Remus’s wrists. Arguing with Remus had… helped, but there was only so long the subject could be avoided. Sirius flicked his wrist again and the buttons of Remus’s shirt did themselves up, once more covering Remus’s chest. Sirius’s eyes tracked to Remus’s wrists.

Muttering a little under his breath, Remus sat up and shrugged off his outer robes, now that his ribs were no longer bothering him. The black robes pooled on the floor, in a semi-circle around him.

“Shit, Remus,” Sirius breathed.

Remus’s sleeves were soaked in blood, from just below the crook of his elbow to the cuffs of his wrists. Like the blood on his hands, the stains were crusted over and turning a dull-brown colour, but it was, without a doubt, _blood_ , and a lot of it.

Without another word between them, Remus rolled up his sleeves, one at a time.

The thin flesh covering both of Remus’s wristbands was torn to shreds. Blood caked and continued to ooze from the wounds, thin trails of it tracking down Remus’s forearm. What’s worse, underneath the fresh blood and torn flesh, Sirius could make out the pale outline of countless scars.

“Siri, it’s not what you think,” Remus whispered, his voice cracking a bit.

And he’s right, because Sirius didn’t think _that_. Not anymore. If Remus had done this to himself with _that_ intent, the scars would be on the fleshy part of his arm, not on the bone.

This… This looked like someone had gnawed on Remus’s flesh, straight to the bone.

“Sirius,” Remus started again, after seeing the hard-set expression on Sirius’s face.

“ _Scourgify_.” Sirius flicked his wrist and the caked and dried blood disappeared from Remus’s hands and arms, leaving only the gnarled wounds and fresh blood. A second later, he twirled his fingers and said, “ _Episkey._ ”

Nothing happened.

Sirius risked a glance at Remus, then flicked his wrist and tried the spell again.

Still nothing.

His hand shaking slightly, Sirius reached into the pocket of his robe for his wand.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut. “Sirius, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up.” He focused all his magic on Remus’s wrists, praying his defective wand wouldn’t make things worse. “ _Episkey_.”

Again, nothing. The magic fizzled out, just above the gaping wounds. A trickle of blood tracked down Remus’s left forearm.

Remus started to pull his wrists out of reach. “Honestly, Sirius, I’m fine. Let’s just—”

Sirius couldn’t tear his eyes from Remus’s wrists. “It should _work_. I’m doing the spell right. These are deep, but they should still heal.”

“They’ll be perfectly fine in a day or two. Just let it—”

“A day or two?” Sirius repeated, incredulously. “Remus, these will take _weeks_ to heal naturally. Now, I know another spell that will—”

“I heal fast. I’m fine, Sirius.”

“It’s a special spell. Meant for healing curses and, well, persistent wounds, I guess.”

Remus’s eyes widened. “No, you can’t—”

Sirius ignored him and set down his wand. He practiced the movement Andromeda had shown him with his wrist. When he was sure he’d gotten it right, he pointed his first two fingers at Remus’s wrists and repeated the swishing motion. “ _Repifarigo.”_

There was a flash of blue light, but then absolutely nothing. Remus’s wrists were still as raw and bloody as they had been a second ago.

Sirius frowned and tried to swallow the panic rising in his throat. He tried the spell again, this time with his wand, but still nothing.

Remus bowed his head. His wrists rested limp and bloody in his lap.

Sirius bit his lip. Tears welled in his eyes, completely without his permission. He scrubbed a hand over his face to wipe them away. “That’s… That’s Dark Magic, Remus,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“No, it’s not.”

Sirius laughed, a little broken, a little insane, but he couldn’t help it. “Yes, it is. Dark Magic’s just about the only thing that spell won’t heal.”

“Then maybe you did the spell wrong.”

“Don’t insult me!” Sirius snapped, because, _Merlin_ , he didn’t do the fucking spell wrong. “That’s Dark Magic. Someone did that to you. Tell me who.”

“No one—”

“Bullshit! Who did this to you, Remus?”

Now, Remus was the one in tears. He shook his head, silently pleading with Sirius just to drop it, to leave him alone, to—

Sirius lowered his voice. “Please, just tell me. I want to help. Who did this?”

Very softly—so softly that Sirius almost missed it, even though he was sitting right next to Remus—Remus whispered, “A monster.”

“Fuck,” Sirius breathed. His hands were shaking, aching to touch, to comfort, to take all Remus’s pain away. Almost subconsciously, Sirius reached out his index finger and brushed it against the unmarred skin of Remus’s palm. Sirius jerked back almost immediately, but it was enough to get Remus to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said. “I’m so fucking sorry. I let you go and—”

“No! No,” Remus very nearly sobbed. “You did not _let_ me go. I _had_ to go. This… It has nothing to do with you, all right? It…”

Sirius shifted imperceptibly closer. “It, _what_?”

“The monster’s going to find me, one way or another, no matter what I do. All I can do is try to keep him away from you and from anyone else I might care about, because… Christ, Sirius. I’d rather he tear me to pieces than watch him sink his teeth into you. I wouldn’t be able to stop it. He’d kill you and he’d make me watch.” Remus paused, his eyes boring into Sirius’s soul. “I need you to swear to me that you won’t go looking for this monster, even if you know I might get hurt.”

Sirius recoiled and shook his head. “No. No. You can’t ask me to do that,” he whispered, not really caring if his voice broke.

“Please, Sirius. I need to know you’re safe.”

Sirius swore under his breath. He remembered how quick Remus had been to swear that he’d never say anything about Sirius’s family, like he understood Sirius’s that terrifying martyr complex that demanded Sirius keep his friends away from his family. Sirius needed to keep his friends _safe._

Remus knew that desperation, then. He knew it intimately. He bore the scars from some unnamed monster that left him bruised and bleeding and he’d give just about anything to make sure his friends never endured the same.

Goddamnit.

“All right,” Sirius whispered. “I promise.”

He hated Remus, just a little, for forcing that promise upon him, and he thought maybe Remus knew that, too. That horrifying protective instinct—that inspired both delusions of grandeur and desperate recklessness—ran deep in both of them.

“Thank you,” Remus murmured, one final tear slipping down his cheek.

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the tears that wanted to well up in his own eyes. He’d cried enough over this. Now was the time to _act_.

“Do you…” Sirius gestured to Remus’s wrists. They’d mostly stopped bleeding, but they still looked horrible. “Do you want me to take you back to the hospital wing? Pomfrey will have dittany, or something. Might not heal them all the way, but it’ll help.”

“No,” Remus said, softly. “If I go back, she’ll make me stay the night. I just want to sleep in my own bed again.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I heal fast. I just want to sleep.”

Remus placed his hand on the wall and managed to drag himself to his feet without making his wrists bleed again. He swayed a little, but kept his balance.

Sirius held out a hand, ready to catch him should he suddenly collapse. “Do you need help? I can go get Evans back here, if—”

“I’m fine, Sirius. I can walk. It was my ribs that made that rather difficult, so thank you, for that. And for trying, with the…” He held up his wrists.

Sirius stared at them, then at the scars lining Remus’s face.

_I don’t care what I promised. One day, I’ll tear whoever did this to you to shreds, I swear it._

“Sirius?” Remus’s eyebrows pinched together.

“Yeah?”

“What the fuck happened to your face?”

This time, Sirius managed a genuine laugh.

 

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**SEPTEMBER 8, 1971**

 

At a quarter past two in the morning, Remus cried out in his sleep.

Sirius, who was already up—unable to sleep due to a combination of restless thoughts involving scars, monsters, and _Remus_ as well as his general insomnia—sat bolt upright in his bed.

From the bed next over, Sirius heard Remus let out a faint whimper.

He threw back the covers and his own hangings, grabbed a pillow, and made his way over to Remus’s bed. Pulling aside the hangings, Sirius threw his pillow at Remus.

“ _Mmph_ —Sirius?” Remus muttered, opening one eye.

Sirius gestured at the pillow. “Budge over and put that thing between us. I’m sleeping here.”

Remus obeyed. Sirius crawled into bed and lay on his side, facing Remus. Bright amber eyes blinked at him, then carved a path right into his heart.

“Are your wrists all right?” he asked, mostly just trying to break whatever tension there was between them.

“They’re fine,” Remus replied, without looking at them.

“Are… Are you all right?” Sirius tried.

“Just a nightmare. They tend to happen after…” Remus looked away.

“It’s okay, Remus,” Sirius said. “I get them, too. I’m here, though, okay? In case you have another one.”

“You don’t have—”

“Your bed’s more comfortable anyway,” Sirius said, quickly.

Remus’s face softened a little, before he closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me, you idiot. I’m your friend,” Sirius muttered, but he didn’t think Remus heard him.

“I missed you, Siri,” Remus murmured, delirious and half-asleep already.

“Missed you, too,” Sirius whispered back and, Merlin, he didn’t think he’d realised it until just now. Sirius was surprised by how much he meant it. With the notable exception of Regulus, Sirius Black had never missed anyone before. He’d never longed for someone so much that it hurt when they weren’t there beside him.

The thought terrified him, really, because Remus made him vulnerable. If anyone took Remus from him, Sirius was pretty sure it might destroy him.

For Merlin’s sake, he’d only known Remus for a week.

In the morning, James didn’t comment on the fact that Sirius slept in Remus’s bed, when Sirius accidentally woke him on his way to the shower, and, after that, their sleeping arrangement just became normal.

 

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Despite everything Snape had done and said the day before, Sirius was determined to keep his word to Lily and not mess with Snape, unless Snape directly attacked someone other than Sirius.

In Defence Against the Dark Arts, on Wednesday morning, Snape called Sirius a blood traitor in front of the entire class. Lily shot Sirius a panicked look, before once again smacking Snape upside the head. Remus and Peter each took an arm as James tried to stand to defend Sirius’s honour. Together, they yanked James back into his seat and slowly calmed him down.

Sirius flushed bright red, but did absolutely nothing.

Professor Amelia Rattleburn prattled on, as if horrible and derogatory names such as that were nothing out of the ordinary.

In History of Magic, that afternoon, Snape and the Carrow twins began to loudly theorise how Walburga and Orion Black were going to punish Sirius for being sorted into Gryffindor.Remus more or less had to toss Peter into James’s lap to keep James from storming over to the Slytherins and gouging their eyes out.

Sirius, again, did absolutely nothing, though secretly he prayed his parents weren’t taking suggestions from Snape and the Carrows. They were rather… creative.

Professor Binns droned on, completely and utterly oblivious.

After their final detention on Wednesday evening, James and Sirius climbed the steps to the Astronomy Tower. Fabian and Gideon Prewett were waiting for them. Both twins still sported their fuchsia beards. Sirius laughed a little.

“It still hasn’t worn off?” Sirius asked.

“Nah, it did,” Gideon said. “We thought they looked quite nice, so we’ve decided to keep them.”

“Yeah,” said Fabian. “The Hogwarts handbook specifically prohibits students from growing natural beards, of course, but these…” He gestured towards his face. “These are most certainly _unnatural_ beards.”

“A huge oversight in linguistics, if you ask me,” Gideon said. “But, technically speaking, we’re not breaking any rules.”

“McGonagall tried to make us get rid of them, but—”

“—We told her these beards were part of our religion, so if she makes us get rid of them, it’s discrimination.”

“We figured that’d give us a few more days, until she decides to write Mum and Dad about it,” Fabian said.

“Wicked,” James said, cracking a wild grin.

“How ‘bout this plan of yours?” Sirius prompted, leaning against the Tower wall.

“Right, of course,” Fabian said. “It’s rather simple, really.”

“Tomorrow at breakfast, we cause a distraction, lure all the professors out of the Great Hall—”

“—Then you and Potter slip ol’ Malfoy some of this.”

Once again, Gideon produced a vial of Hiccuping Secrets from his robes.

James nodded. “We’ll get Pete and Remus to keep watch, too, just in case. Can’t have the professors interfering.”

Sirius looked the twins up and down, then narrowed his eyes. “What’s in it for you lot, especially if your plan actually involves you getting caught?”

“Oh, we don’t mind,” Gideon said.

“Especially if getting caught means the public humiliation of Lucius Malfoy,” Fabian said.

“See, we’ve had our run-ins with Malfoy,” Gideon explained, leaning in close.

“One too many, in fact,” Fabian said, morosely. “Malfoy said if we tried anything else, he’d make sure his father had ours thrown out of the Ministry.”

“Yeah,” said Gideon. “Dad’s already been demoted once, because of us.”

“He can do that?” James asked, genuinely shocked.

“Of course he can,” Sirius said, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. “His dad’s Abraxas Malfoy. He basically runs the Ministry, along with my father and a few more blood-purists.”

“That’s a horrifying thought,” James muttered.

Sirius couldn’t help but agree. Men like his father—like Abraxas Malfoy—should never have been given power in the first place, let alone power based solely on their lineages.

“What exactly does the potion do?” Sirius asked, a little desperate for a subject change.

Fabian smirked. “It’s in the name, really. Few drops of this in your morning tea, and you’re forced to cough up all your secrets. The more hidden or embarrassing the secret, the more the potion compels you to spit it out.”

“Yeah,” Gideon said. “And if you’re stupid enough to try to keep your mouth shut or try to resist the potion, all your hair falls out.”

“All of it,” Fabian echoed, stressing each word.

“ _Everywhere_ ,” Gideon finished.

“The hair-loss was more of an unintended side-effect than anything, really,” Fabian said, “but it does serve as rather compelling incentive just to cough up all your secrets.”

A wicked grin spread across James’s face. “So,” he said. “Can we see a demonstration? You know, just to make sure it works?”

The brothers exchanged a look, both of them stroking their beards in a bizarre mirror image of each other.

“Sure, Potter,” Fabian said, with a wink. “Give it a go.”

Gideon held out the vial. “Only a drop. Go on. Bottom’s up.”

James stared at the vial for a second, then took it. “Sure,” he said. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

James let a drop fall onto his tongue, before handing the vial back.

“Black?” Gideon prompted, offering him the vial as well. “How ‘bout it, eh?”

“I’ll keep my secrets, thanks,” Sirius bit out, a bit horrified at the thought.

Luckily, he didn’t have to bother with any further explanation because, next to him, James hiccuped loudly.

“Sirius Black was the first friend I ever had.”

Sirius stared at him, his mouth hanging open.

The twins exchanged a look, completely unimpressed.

“That’s your deepest, darkest secret?” Gideon asked, an eyebrow raised.

James, on the other hand, flushed bright red.

_Merlin_ , Sirius thought. How was that possible? Surely James had loads of friends, before Hogwarts. He was pure-blood, after all, and pure-bloods always have their circles of friends.

James hiccuped again, stopping Sirius’s thought.

“Every Christmas, my mum gives the house elf the day off and makes the curry. She’s a terrible cook, but I don’t have the heart to tell her. Last year, I threw her curry in the rosebushes outside, when she wasn’t looking, and I’m pretty sure it killed the neighbour’s cat.”

The twins burst out in a fit of laughter. Sirius managed a nervous snicker.

Once more, James hiccuped.

“My father tested every version of his hair potion on me and none of them ever worked, not even the one on the market.”

“Merlin, Potter, you’re as vanilla as they come,” Fabian laughed.

“Am not!” James protested. The hiccups fizzled out.

“Don’t worry, Potter,” Gideon said. “I have a feeling Black can help sully your reputation a bit.”

“Oi!” Sirius pointed a finger at James. “He hexed Malfoy so his bits were flapping around on the train. Jamie can do just fine on his own.”

“Oh, we heard about that,” Fabian leered.

“Is it really all…” Gideon made a rather obscene hand gesture.

“Shrivelled?” James supplied. “Yeah.”

“Brilliant,” the twins said together.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

Later, after their plans had been hashed out and Gideon handed over the vial of Hiccuping Secrets, James and Sirius made their way back to Gryffindor Tower.

“So,” Sirius said, aiming for casual and not quite getting there. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robes. “I’m your first friend, huh?”

James turned beat red. “Ugh,” he groaned. “We’re not going to talk about this, are we?”

“Yes, we are,” Sirius said. “How’s that possible, exactly?”

James shrugged. “Didn’t have siblings, I guess,” he said. “And my parents are great and all, but they’re still my parents. Plus, they’re older, so none of their friends had kids around my age. I had a few older cousins, I guess, but I was never really close with any of them. Never really had much opportunity to make friends until I met you.”

“Right, yeah,” Sirius said, nodding along. “But, aside from that bit with Malfoy on the train, you didn’t really _like_ me in the beginning. Shouldn’t your first friend be Peter or Remus?”

“I met you in Diagon Alley,” James said. “I thought we got along just fine, then.”

“Sure, but you hardly knew me at all,” Sirius argued. “And after the Sorting, well. I thought you were never going to speak to me at all.”

James grimaced. “It wasn’t that.”

“Then what was it?”

“I thought you were trying to fuck with me. I thought...” James trailed off and looked away.

“Spit it out, Jamie.”

James eyed him. “You won’t like it.”

“Don’t care,” Sirius said, easily. “I’m your friend, you git. Just tell me.”

“I thought you were a Slytherin spy, sent by Malfoy or your cousins or your parents to infiltrate Gryffindor.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Merlin, that’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Even if I had done it as a Slytherin spy, I’d still be stuck in Gryffindor for the next _seven_ years. Hell of a price to pay, Potter.”

“Yes, well, I know that _now_ ,” James huffed, indignantly. “But, _then_ … Slughorn let you off the hook and you’re a Black. I came to a reasonable conclusion.”

“Reasonable, my arse,” Sirius snickered.

“It seemed reasonable at the time,” James said. “I know you’re a right proper Gryffindor now, though. Right down to your bones.”

Sirius smirked. “Aw. You’re just saying that because I’m your best friend.”

“You’re probably right,” James said, with a shrug. “Do we have to hug now?”

“Nah,” Sirius said. “I figure if I’m supposed to be sullying your reputation, it’s best not to get caught hugging it out in the corridors so close to curfew. We can cry about our feelings later, in private, like proper blokes.”

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

**SEPTEMBER 9, 1971**

 

On Thursday morning, on the way to the Great Hall, Severus Snape shoved past an exhausted and barely-upright Remus and Sirius Black very nearly lost his shit.

Remus went sprawling. The books he’d been holding fanned out around him, their spines bent and pages ruffled.Remus let out a cry of pain, which was greatly muffled by the _crack_ of his chin hitting the stone floor.

Absolutely unable to help Remus in any way that might be considered productive, Sirius whirled on Snape, his hand extended and his magic spurting between his fingers.

“Cool it, Black,” Snape sneered, tipping his ridiculously large nose towards the ceiling. “The great oaf just needs to watch where he’s going.”

Remus pulled himself to his feet and Sirius risked a glance over. There was blood trickling down Remus’s chin. He’d bitten his tongue, most likely.

Snape’s gaze drifted to Remus, then back to Sirius. “What are you going to do about it, Black? Can’t let it get back to Mummy that you’re letting a half-blood _bleed_ all over you.”

“Fuck off, Snivellus,” Sirius growled, trying to swallow the fury welling up inside him. “Right now, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Sirius,” Remus warned. He wiped the blood from his face and summoned all his books. “I’m fine. Let’s just go.”

Reluctantly, Sirius let his magic fizzle out and lowered his hand. With one more withering glare at Snape, he turned and followed Remus into the Great Hall.

“Just like a dog on a leash,” Snape called after him. “Follow your master, Black!”

At Remus’s glare, Sirius clamped his mouth shut and didn’t turn around.

As soon as he sat down, Remus poured himself a cup of tea and downed it in one go.

“How much of that potion have we got?” Sirius hissed to James, sitting down next to him.

James swallowed, then ducked his head to whisper back. “More than enough. Why?”

“We’re getting Snivellus, too.”

James smirked. “I like the way you think, Black.”

With one more bite of his toast, James stood. He glanced around the Hall, then made his way ever-so-carefully over to the house elf entrance.

Remus narrowed his eyes at Sirius and wiped a lingering drop of blood from his lips. “You better not be doing something stupid because of me, Sirius.”

“It’s not because of you,” Sirius protested and, well, it was mostly true. “We’re getting back at Malfoy for the whole train thing.”

“And you’re going to keep Snape out of it?” Remus asked.

Sirius shrugged. “At this point, it’s probably best if you don’t ask questions. Just sit back and enjoy the show.”

As if on cue, a series of loud _bangs_ and _pops_ reverberated throughout the castle. A number of students screamed and ducked. A few of the professors did as well, but then McGonagall drew her wand and, muttering under her breath, raced out of the Great Hall. “Remain calm and _stay put!”_ she shouted. Every single one of the other professors followed her.

James took his place back at the table. A second later, with a nod from Sirius, Peter stood and went to stand by the ginormous doors to the Great Hall.

Remus shook his head. “Merlin, what did you two do?”

James feigned hurt and turned to Sirius. “He hears explosions and automatically assumes it’s us.”

“I’m flattered, Remus,” Sirius laughed. “But what makes you think we’re responsible for _every_ explosion in this castle?”

They were not, in fact, responsible for this particular explosion. This particular explosion was entirely a Prewett operation and a brilliant one, at that. The plan was for the Prewetts to light off a series of fireworks near Ravenclaw tower—hopefully catching some of the tapestries on fire—thereby ensuring more James and Sirius more time as all the professors scrambled to make sure the precious works of art wouldn’t perish in flames. (They wouldn’t. Fabian and Gideon assured James that they spent most of the night before charming the tapestries with preservation charms. They’d still _catch_ fire, but the damage wouldn’t last.)

A second round of fireworks, set off in the dungeons, would be the signal for James and Sirius to wrap up their end of the prank. With practically nothing to set on fire in the dungeons, the Prewett twins anticipated their capture, with the consolation that James and Sirius would utterly humiliate Lucius Malfoy.

“Have they had their tea, yet?” Sirius whispered to James.

“Think so.”

“Good. Would you like to do the honours?”

James inclined his head. “All you, Mr. Black.”

Trying to at least be moderately subtle, Sirius stood and flicked his wrist at Malfoy. “ _Sonorus!_ ” A second later, he repeated the charm on Snape. Neither of the Slytherins seemed to notice.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Christ, Sirius, what are you—”

He didn’t have time to finish the thought.

Lucius Malfoy hiccuped so loudly that the Great Hall fell silent. One by one, every head turned towards the Slytherin table, just in time to hear Malfoy proclaim, in an obnoxiously loud voice, “I lost my virginity to Bellatrix Black last summer!”

Narcissa’s shriek was nearly deafening. “ _YOU WHAT!?”_

Sirius burst out laughing. A few more nervous giggles broke out across the Hall.

“Merlin,” Sirius wheezed, clutching his stomach. “This is better than I could have hoped for.”

“Is that,” Remus began, swallowing nervously, “truth serum?”

“Close,” James said, through his own snickers. “Hiccuping Secrets. Makes you spill your deepest, darkest secrets to whoever’s listening.”

Remus turned pale, but neither Sirius or James noticed, because, just then, Snape hiccuped.

“I have grease stains on my pillow from my hair and I can’t figure out how to get them out!”

Snape clamped a hand over his mouth. All eyes at the Slytherin table turned their focus to Snape. Even Malfoy and Narcissa stopped shouting at each other to sneer down at Snape. 

The entire Hall erupted in laughter. Sirius and James would have doubled over, had there not been a table to support them.

Malfoy hiccuped again.

“My mother thought I was a Squib until I got my Hogwarts letter!”

Sirius could barely contain himself. “Brilliant,” he cackled. “Bloody fucking brilliant.”

It was Snape’s turn. “I’m terrified of the giant squid!”

More laughter.

“Sirius,” Remus whispered. “Don’t you think they’ve had enough?”

Sirius winked at him. “Not even close.”

The rest of the Slytherins seemed torn between laughing at their prefect and frantically checking their own drinks to ensure they hadn’t been dosed with the potion as well. Narcissa was yelling so loudly that, between the raucous laughter in the Hall and her telling Malfoy off, Sirius didn’t quite catch Malfoy’s next secret, even with the amplifier charm. The Slytherins, however, looked so gratifyingly scandalised that Sirius didn’t care too much that he’d missed it.

Snape, on the other hand, they heard loud and clear.

“I’m in love with Lily Evans!”

“WHAT?!” James Potter and Lily Evans roared at the same time.

_Shit._ Sirius sobered immediately. He hadn’t meant to drag Evans into this.

Remus glared at Sirius, the _I told you so, you idiot_ plain on his face.

Unfortunately for Snape, James and Lily’s reactions just made him start babbling. “Merlin, her _hair!_ It’s so beautiful. Red, like a rose, even though she’s called Lily. _Lily._ Merlin, I can’t stop thinking about her, even when...”

Snape just kept _talking_.

Lily looked like she was torn between bursting out in tears and murdering the first person that crossed her path. She raised her wand and pointed it at Snape.

Sirius realised what she was going to do a second too late. “Wait, Evans, don’t—!”

“ _Silencio!_ ”

Snape swallowed his words, then visibly hiccuped again, but still no words came out.

A second later, every greasy strand of hair on Snape’s head fell out and onto the Slytherin table. The Slytherins sitting around him leapt out of the way, their faces contorted in disgust.

Lily made a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob and ran over to him. Snape’s pale, sallow skin turned a vibrant shade of pink and he absolutely refused to acknowledge her.

“Well,” said Sirius, trying to contain his laughter, “at least his pillow will be safe for a while.”

A second round of explosions echoed through the castle.

Lucius Malfoy hiccuped.

“I’ve seen the Cruciatus curse—”

“ _Silencio!”_ Narcissa shouted, her voice a wild and reverberating shriek.

Malfoy’s hair fell out, but this time, nobody laughed. A deathly silence fell over the Hall and it had nothing to do with Narcissa’s spell.

Sirius felt his blood run cold. He’d never been naive enough to think that the Blacks were the only pure-blood family who used the Unforgivables, but to hear it said so plainly—in the middle of the Great Hall, no less…

_Shit._

There were consequences to revealing the secrets of any pure-blood family.

Narcissa rose to her feet. She stood still, for a moment, heaving deep, measured breaths. Every eye in the Hall focused on her.

“SIRIUS!” she bellowed.

Sirius stood.

“Yes, Cissa?” He didn’t bother keeping the false bravado out of his voice. It was the only thing keeping the rising panic at bay.

Merlin, he couldn’t go down for this. His mother would murder him, then use his bones in a graveyard sacrifice to the incarnation of evil itself.

“You complete _monster!_ ” Narcissa’s normally pale face turned a bright pink. It was not a good colour on her. “Your mother will hear about this!”

_Fuck_.

Next to him, Remus stood up. “How do you know it was Sirius?”

Narcissa sputtered. Clearly, she wasn’t used to being directly addressed by first year Gryffindors. “Because it _was!”_

“Did you see Sirius hex them? Or put something in their food?” Remus asked, his voice remarkably calm.

“Well, no, but I—”

“Then you can’t know it was him,” Remus said.

Narcissa huffed and placed her hands on her hips. “Who else would have done it?”

“It was my understanding that Malfoy has no shortage of enemies,” Remus said. “The truth could have been used as a weapon by any number of them, certainly not excluding yourself.”

Narcissa drew her wand and pointed it at the centre of Remus’s chest. “What the hell do you mean by that?!”

Sirius raised his hand, ready to defend Remus, his magic sparking and flickering, but Remus waved him off.

“Malfoy just admitted to sleeping with your sister,” Remus said, his voice as calm as ever. “Perhaps you had a suspicion before and wanted proof, so you gave him a truth serum. You’d have a greater chance of dosing any one of the Slytherins than Sirius ever would. So, in my opinion, it’s far more logical to assume that you’re the culprit and that Sirius is merely your scapegoat.”

_Holy mother of Merlin_ , Sirius loved Remus Lupin.

Narcissa, however, clearly didn’t share the sentiment. “How _dare_ you suggest that, you filthy, little—”

She was cut off by Peter’s squeak and frantic gestures from the front of the Hall.

A second later, the Prewett twins threw open the doors and strolled in, closely trailed by a furious Professor McGonagall. Their faces were smudged with soot and both of their pink beards were covered in ash. Gideon had a small burn on his temple. Both were grinning like mad idiots.

McGonagall froze, taking in the scene that greeted her in the Great Hall: Narcissa with her wand drawn, two bald Slytherins, a sobbing Lily Evans, and Sirius and James looking, all together, a bit smug.

“Well, well,” Fabian said. “It seems we’ve missed something, Gid.”

“Such a shame. We’re off causing general mischief and mayhem and suddenly the Slytherins develop male pattern baldness. I hope it isn’t catching.”

Gideon feigned horror and lovingly stroked his beard.

“Have to say, Malfoy,” Fabian said, with a wink, “I think it’s a huge improvement.”

Malfoy rose to his feet and tried to retort, but Narcissa’s silencing spell had done its job. He choked on whatever he was about to say and the Prewetts burst out laughing.

“Enough!” McGonagall shouted. Her eyes scanned the crowd, then zeroed in on Sirius. “Mr. Black, I should like to know the meaning of all this.”

“Oi! Why does everyone assume this was my fault?”

Technically speaking, it was his fault, but that wasn’t the point.

“Professor,” James said. “No one saw Sirius do anything to the Slytherins.”

McGonagall pushed her square spectacles up her nose. “Is this true, Miss Black?”

Narcissa gave a short nod, then stowed her wand, and sat back down with a huff of frustration.

“Right,” Fabian said, clapping his hands together. “Since nobody asked, we’re fine, by the way.”

Gideon smiled. “Bit singed around the edges, and—”

‘’—And a little hurt that our brilliance has thus far gone unnoticed.”

“Your _brilliance_ ,” McGonagall snapped, “has cost Gryffindor one hundred points.” (From the other end of the Gryffindor table, Frank Longbottom let out a cry of dismay.) “I expect better of the both of you.”

“Hear that, Fabian? Next time, she wants _more_ fireworks.”

That earned the twins a few snickers.

McGonagall raised her wand and sent down a shower of sparks. “That’s _enough_! Now, off to class, all of you. That’s quite enough excitement for one day.”

One by one, the students gathered their things and trickled out of the Great Hall.

“That was fucking _brilliant_ , Remus!” Sirius said, the second they were out of the Slytherins’ earshot.

James jogged up and slung an arm across Remus’s shoulders. He had to reach up and stand on his toes a bit to do it, given Remus’s height, but one could never fault James Potter for his effort. “Our hero,” he cooed. “I thought for sure Narcissa was going to have Sirius’s head. Then mine, two, by extension.” He threw a wink at Sirius. “No one should face decapitation alone.”

“Thanks, mate,” Sirius deadpanned, but he smiled too.

“But no heads shall roll today!” shouted James, jumping up a little so he could ruffle Remus’s hair. “Not with Remus Lupin, true Gryffindor and brilliant teller of tall tales, on our side!”

Remus shrugged James off. “Couldn’t let you two get detention again,” he muttered, throwing a glance at Sirius. “If you’re going to make a move against Malfoy, you’ve got to be sure you won’t get caught.”

“Hear, hear!” Sirius chanted, pretending to raise a glass. He absolutely refused to let the implications of Remus’s warning drag him down from his high. They _had_ gotten away with it. Sure, Malfoy had said some… unsavoury things, but neither the Slytherins nor the professors could prove that he, Sirius Black, had anything to do with it.

They’d gotten back at Malfoy and Snape, embarrassed them both thoroughly, and walked away with virtually unscathed, thanks to Remus. Of all the possible outcomes he’d envisioned—and quite a few of them had involved his mother finding out about their prank—this was the best possible result.

“You’re sure your cousin won’t say anything to the professors?” Peter asked, trailing behind them a little.

“She won’t,” Sirius said. “Everyone heard what Malfoy confessed. My guess is even Malfoy suspects Cissa at this point. There’s no end to the treachery among the pure-bloods.”

“But she’s the one that silenced him,” Peter said. “He’ll know pretty quickly that it wasn’t her.”

“Pete’s right,” Remus said, apparently determined to be the voice of reason in all this. “He might not be able to prove anything, but Malfoy’s not an idiot. He’ll come after all of us soon enough.”

_Ugh_. Sirius had no doubt that was true.

“All of us?” Peter squeaked. “Why’s he after me? I didn’t do anything!”

“Oi!” Sirius glared at him. “Are you kidding me, Pettigrew? You’re just going to leave us to the wolves? Some Gryffindor you are.”

“You were the lookout, Pete,” James pointed out. “You were definitely involved.”

“Yeah, but—”

Remus cut him off. “All I’m saying is that we all need to watch our backs.”

“Or, conversely,” James began, raising a finger, “we immediately start planning our next ingenious prank against Malfoy and his gang.”

All things considered, Sirius wholeheartedly agreed.

“Picture this: Black and Potter. The greatest purveyors of mischief Hogwarts has ever seen!” James said.

“Don’t forget Lupin,” Sirius said, giving Remus an award-winning smile. “Our fiendish mastermind and loyal advocate, should we get caught.”

“And Pettigrew.” James threw an arm across Peter’s shoulders. “Our faithful lookout.” 

“Oh, Merlin. We’re all going to be serving detention until we graduate,” Remus grumbled, but Sirius thought he looked rather proud.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

In Transfiguration, McGonagall gave a stern lecture on how pranks were certainly unbecoming of Hogwarts students and would no longer be tolerated. The Prewetts, she said, despite their reputations, were not to be idolised for their misdeeds, even if they were all in the name of fun.

James Potter kept throwing conspiratorial glances at Sirius, and even so much as dared to mock McGonagall when she wasn’t looking. Clearly, James took McGonagall’s lecture as a challenge and Sirius loved him for it.

McGonagall, for her part, drove every point home with a stern glare at Sirius. Even though he knew he played a role in this particular prank, McGonagall certainly didn’t know that and the Prewetts had officially taken the fall for it. As far as she could prove, he was innocent, yet she still assumed his guilt. Whether it was because of his name alone or the incident last week in the first Transfiguration class, Sirius wasn’t sure. Either way, it was bloody unfair. Sure, he’d been involved in this particular instance, but not everything that went awry in Hogwarts castle was _his_ fault.

After class, Remus hung back. “Sirius?” he said. “Can I, um. Can I speak to you?”

Sirius paused. “Yeah, sure.”

They waited until the classroom cleared out. McGonagall threw one more demeaning look at Sirius before following her students into the corridor.

When Remus didn’t immediately say anything and refused to look at him, all the things that could possibly be wrong flashed through Sirius’s head. Were Remus’s wrists still bleeding, or…?

Merlin, what if Remus had to go home again?

Finally, Remus met his eyes. “That potion you and James used… it was a truth serum?”

Sirius barely had time to exchange his relief for general confusion. “Um, yeah, I think so. The Prewetts brewed it. It’s called Hiccuping Secrets. My guess is there’s at least a drop of Veritaserum in it.”

Remus nodded. “And it… forces you to tell the truth?”

“Yes.”

“You shout out your darkest secrets?”

“That’s the general idea,” Sirius said, slowly. “Look, Remus, we tested it on James, and well… First of all, it was hilarious, but more importantly, it’s perfectly safe. You don’t even lose all your hair unless you try to fight the potion.”

“Were you going to use it on me?”

The question floored him. All the air rushed from Sirius’s lungs. “What?! Remus, no. _Fuck_ , no!”

Remus fidgeted and looked embarrassed. “It’s just that… You keep asking about my scars and—”

“Because I’m _worried_ about you, Remus!” Merlin, he hadn’t meant to say it like that. Sirius took a breath. “I would never force you to give up your secrets. I’ll probably pester you until the sky falls down, but only because I want to help if someone’s hurting you. I’m your friend, goddamnit. I’d never dose you with truth serum.” He paused, pleading with Remus now. “You believe me, don’t you?”

Remus sighed and nodded. “Yes, I believe you.”

“Because I’d never hurt you,” he rambled on, almost as if Remus hadn’t spoken at all. “I can’t stand it, seeing you—or… or anyone I care about, really—in pain. Hell, the only reason I told James to slip Snape his own dose was because—”

Remus held up a hand and Sirius stopped, mid-confession.

“You… You put the potion in Snape’s glass because of me?”

“He shoved you!”

“I’m fine, Sirius.”

“I don’t care,” Sirius growled. “He shoved you. You were bleeding. That made Snape fair game.”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve made all of us a target,” he said, but there was no accusation in his voice. It was just a fact.

“What?”

“Sirius, you made Snape and Malfoy spill their deepest, darkest secrets in front of _everyone_. Do you really think there won’t be consequences?”

“We can handle them,” he insisted. “Or, like James said, we strike first.”

“Look,” Remus said, with a heavy sigh. “If you wan’t to go after Malfoy or Snape or anyone in Slytherin, I’ll help you, if only to keep you from doing something stupid, but—”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. I’ve gotten away with pranking my cousin and Malfoy since I was little.”

Remus shrugged, unfazed by Sirius’s sarcasm. “Not unscathed.”

Sirius swallowed his next comment.

No, he’d certainly not made it out unscathed. There was a time, at Bella’s birthday gathering, when Sirius had been nine. It wasn’t long after he’d gotten his tattoo, and—

Fuck, he wasn’t going to think about that right now. The tattoo might still be there, but those bruises had healed long ago.

Remus watched him carefully. “I can’t afford to have my secrets revealed in the middle of the Great Hall.”

_Neither can I,_ Sirius thought bitterly, absently rubbing his tattoo through his robes.

“People could get hurt,” Remus continued. “I’d be expelled.”

_Expelled?!_

Oh, holy mother of Merlin, he needed to find out what Remus was hiding.

“If Malfoy gets a hold of the Prewett’s potion—”

“He won’t,” Sirius snapped.

“But if—”

“We’ll go talk to the Prewetts,” Sirius said. “Right fucking now, if you like.”

Remus raised an eyebrow.

“You’re right,” Sirius said. Remus looked rather smug about this, but honestly, Sirius couldn’t blame him. It’d been stupid, this whole Hiccuping Secrets thing. Hilarious, sure, but definitely stupid. “Secrets need to be off the table. So we convince the Prewetts we have reason to believe Malfoy might retaliate in the same fashion and ask them to not brew any more potion.”

“Your plan is to… ask the Prewetts for a favour?”

“We could destroy the Potion Lab with Fiendfyre, if that would make you feel better.”

Remus snorted a laugh. “It would, actually. But I’m not sure I’d like to spend the rest of my days in Azkaban for arson.”

“You’re right,” Sirius said. “If we’re gonna get ourselves thrown in Azkaban, it damn well better be for something awesome.”

Remus laughed again, raw and genuine, and, Merlin, it was a relief to see him smile.

When they’d both laughed more than perhaps their exchange warranted, Remus said, “So. We’re asking the Prewetts for a favour?”

Sirius nodded. “Shouldn’t be too hard. I think Fabian has a crush on me.”

This set Remus off laughing again.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

One amicable and mutually beneficial conversation later, and Fabian and Gideon Prewett had agreed to stop the production of hiccuping Secrets while at Hogwarts, on the condition that James, Remus, Peter and Sirius take up the sole mantle as the antagonisers of Slytherins, namely Malfoy. The Prewetts, it seemed, wanted to retire from plots of vengeance and humiliation and instead focus more on general mischief and mayhem. Sirius, if he was honest, didn’t see why the two should be mutually exclusive, but he hadn’t found that necessary to point out to Fabian or Gideon.

The rest of the day was more or less uneventful. James and Peter left to go watch the Ravenclaw Quidditch team practice after lunch, while Remus and Sirius headed to the library. Immediately upon entering, Remus cracked open no less than four books and began reading from all of them, simultaneously, one sentence at a time from each.

“Have to catch up,” he muttered under his breath, when Sirius told him to take it easy.

Without another word, Sirius slid Remus all the notes he’d taken over the past few days, which was enough to distract Remus from the books. Remus set about copying the notes by hand, until Sirius showed him a wandless spell to copy them with magic. After that, Remus began cross-referencing the notes with the books, and Sirius lost all interest and tried not to be too insulted. Sirius prided himself on his note-taking ability; he knew all of the information was already correct.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs and propping his feet up on the table. His feet landed on the book Remus was currently reading. Remus glared at him. “Sirius.”

“Hm?”

“I have to study.”

“I can see that.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “You’re not helping.”

“I gave you my notes!”

“I appreciate it,” Remus said.

Sirius smirked at him. “You really should. Contrary to popular belief, I really am a brilliant student.”

“And humble, too, apparently,” Remus deadpanned.

“No need to be humble when you’re a prodigy.”

“Good lord,” Remus grumbled. He tried a different approach. “Sirius, I have stack of Muggle novels in my trunk.”

Now _that_ was intriguing. Sirius put his feet back on the floor and leaned forward. “Really?”

“Really.” Remus put on a charming smile, all scars and freckles and amber eyes. “And you can borrow any one you choose, so long as you let me study and kindly fuck off.”

“Deal,” Sirius said immediately, with a gleam in his eye. He grabbed his bag and stood. “Uh, Remus…?”

Remus raised an eyebrow.

“As brilliant as I am,” Sirius started, hesitating only slightly, “I know next to nothing about Muggle literature, so… Any suggestions? I know James likes this Shakes-a-lot—”

“Shakespeare,” Remus said, laughing a little. “And you should probably work your way up to him. Try _Frankenstein_.”

“Franken-what now?”

“ _Frankenstein_. Mary Shelley. It’s a well-worn copy, towards the top of the stack. It’s a red book with grey trim.”

Sirius nodded. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

Remus narrowed his eyes and pointed a threatening finger at him. “If you ruin my book, Sirius Black, I will have to kill you. I’ll feel bad about it, but I will have to kill you.”

Sirius gave a mock salute. “Noted.”

Then, he marched up to Gryffindor tower.

When he crawled through the portrait hole, Sirius thought he was alone, until Lily Evans marched right up to him and punched him in the stomach.

_Merlin, fuck—!_

“OW!” Sirius said, more from the pain touching her than her punch. Though, if he’s being honest, Lily Evans can throw a damn good punch.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I have a bone to pick with you, Sirius Black.”

_Ah._ Snape.

“He shoved Remus!” Sirius protested, rubbing his stomach a little. It would probably bruise, but nothing like the ones he’s used to.

“You don’t get to be the executioner of justice!” she yelled, standing on her toes so she was inches from his face.

“Why the hell not?” he yelled back, putting distance between them. “None of the professors were going to do anything about it!”

“You said you’d leave him out of it!”

“I kept my word, Evans! Snape’s been saying shit about me all of yesterday and I didn’t do a damn thing, but this morning, he shoved Remus, and—”

“I know,” she snapped. “Fuck, I know! Marlene saw Severus push him.”

“Then why am I here?” Sirius asked, lowering his voice. “More importantly, why are you hitting me?”

She took half a step forward. Sirius took half a step back, wondering if she was going to take another swing.

“I wanted to talk to you about secrets,” Lily said.

Sirius laughed. “Yeah, well, save it. I’ve already had that particular conversation with Remus.”

He edged around her, careful not to touch, then sank into one of the armchairs, dangling one leg over an armrest.

Lily turned on her heel. “And?”

“And what?”

“What was the outcome of that particular conversation?”

Sirius shrugged. “We concluded that, though revealing secrets has a potentially hilarious outcome, secrets are, first and foremost, a liability and one that could just as easily be used against us.” He paused and waved his hand. A tiny flame appeared and he let it dance over his fingers before extinguishing it. “So, in essence, revealing secrets for pranking and/or revenge purposes is now strictly off the table.”

Lily nodded once. “Good.”

He flicked another flame into being. “Plus, we made the Prewetts swear on their magic that they wouldn’t give that potion to anyone else at Hogwarts.”

“Even better.” Her voice changed. Lily looked down at her shoes.

For a horrifying second, Sirius thought she was crying, but then she looked up and her eyes were dry. She looked… hurt, though, and he knew why.

“I, uh,” he began, not really sure how to do this, but knowing he needed to all the same. “I didn’t mean to get you involved. I’m… sorry I made him say that. In front of everyone.”

“But you’re not sorry about giving him whatever it is you gave him or about the other things he said or about how all his hair fell out?”

At this point, he didn’t see any point in lying to her. “No. Not sorry for that, really. He hurt Remus.”

She nodded, sniffed, and was quiet for a moment. Then, she walked over and sat in the chair across from him. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, and fixed him with a hard stare.

“Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we—” She fidgeted again. He noticed she did that a lot when she didn’t know what to say. “Are we friends?”

He hadn’t been expecting that.

She didn’t give him a chance to reply. “I’m not asking because you’re sorry for embarrassing me or even because of what happened at breakfast. I just… I want to know where you and I stand.”

Sirius put both feet on the ground and mimicked her pose. “Do you want to be friends with me?”

“I think so.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why? Because, trust me, Evans, you’re not Snape. You’ve handled yourself just fine so far. You don’t need my protection.”

Lily’s face scrunched up. “Your _protection?!”_

Sirius waved her off. “And, let’s be honest here, I painted a huge fucking target on my back the second I asked the Hat for Gryffindor, so even if I was offering protection, it’d be shit.”

“Did you offer Potter or Remus your ‘protection’?”

Sirius gulped. He considered the possibility that he severely misunderstood her intention in asking for his friendship. “What? No.”

“Why not?”

“They’re different.”

“Because they’re boys or because they’re higher born than me?”

Well, he walked right into that one. “I, um. I don’t think I want to answer that.”

Lily smirked, triumphant. “Hah. Even Sirius Black has a blood bias.”

His stomach lurched. “No—fuck—I don’t—!”

“Grow out of it. Right now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Merlin, he meant it too. Anything and everything to separate himself from the horrible philosophies forced down his throat since he was born and named heir.

“I do not need your protection,” Lily Evans said.

Sirius nodded. “Understood.”

“And I would like to be your friend.”

He paused. “Okay, honestly? That one I don’t get.”

“You’re loyal. Kind, too, I think, when you want to be.” A wicked smirk crept across her face. “Plus, no one in their right mind would expect it.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Ah, you’re here for the danger of defying societal norms. I admire that.”

“I’m a Gryffindor, aren’t I?” she said, a wild gleam in her eye.

“S’pose you are.” He waved his hand, once more conjuring a flame. “There are drawbacks to this whole arrangement, you know.”

Lily nodded, serenely. “You are a bit of an arse.”

“Fair enough,” he said, letting the tiny fire dance across his knuckles. “I think I hate Severus Snape.”

Lily’s smile fell a little and she heaved a sigh. “I don’t think that’s entirely unwarranted, given your interactions with him.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“But,” she continued, “you should probably know that he’s my best friend and, deep down, he is a good person. I won’t stop being friends with him for you or for anyone.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to. But I still hate him.”

Lily Evans knew how to match him blow for blow. Merlin, Sirius loved it. “I’m not feeling particularly fond of James Potter at the moment.”

The flame in his hand inched up his arm a bit, flickering across the sleeves of his robes, before Sirius closed his fist and snuffed it out. “Why hate James and not me?”

“You’re an arse, but at least you show a general sense of compassion for your fellow man. I saw how you helped Remus the other day.”

_Compassion, huh?_

“ _You_ should know,” Sirius said, “that James Potter is my best friend and, deep down, is a good person.”

“Then we understand each other. We don’t choose between our friends.”

Sirius nodded.

They sat in a comfortable silence, both openly sizing each other up.

Eventually, Sirius said, “There are other things to consider than James and Snape, Evans.”

“You’re quite posh, you know that? I wasn’t aware this was a negotiation.”

“I’m trying to help you make an informed decision, and, for that, there are a few things you should probably know.”

Say, for instance: _My mother would probably kill both of us if she knew we were speaking together._

And: _There’s a tattoo on my chest that means I can never touch you._

Lily rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, do go on.”

This was a _challenge_ to her.

No sense in beating around the bush, then.

“My family would hunt you down for just talking to me.”

Lily frowned. “Because I’m—”

“Muggle-born. Yes, but they would probably not use that word.”

“Huh.” That wild gleam was back in her eyes. “I did mention this secret motivation of mine that involved obliterating everyone’s opinions of what should be considered normal, did I not?”

_Bravery_ , _even if it was stupid._ _Like any true Gryffindor._

“If Malfoy even suspects you’re my friend, he’ll perform the blood curse again.”

At this, Lily Evans almost looked _excited_. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m looking for a cure to that. Do you want to help?”

“There’s no cure. I’ve checked.”

(But, _Merlin_ , imagine a world in which there _was_ a cure or a counter-curse for that godforsaken tattoo on his chest. He could—)

Sirius shook his head. Now was not the time. “Just to be clear, while we’re on the subject of Slytherins and Malfoy and, well, Snape—”

Lily groaned. “Are we still on that?”

“—As long as Snape continues to threaten my friends, I’m not going to let him get away with it.”

“Nor will I stop putting you in your place if and _when_ you go too far,” she said. “Now, are you done trying to convince me we shouldn’t be friends?”

He laughed a little. “Not quite. Contrary to popular belief, I am not the picture of perfection you see before you. I’m allergic to chocolate, I can’t sing for shit—but that doesn’t stop me from trying—and, as Remus said, I have a thing about germs, so I will not be touching you under any circumstances short of actual mortal peril.”

Lily considered this. “Okay. Is that it?”

_Well, there’s the tattoo, and the crazy mother, and the dying wand—_

“Think so, yes,” he said, instead.

“Good.” She stood up, then strolled towards the stairs that led to the girls’ dormitory. “Guess you’re stuck with me, Sirius Black.”

Sirius smiled, ducking his head a little. Lily Evans, Muggle-born Gryffindor, was a force of nature and, _Merlin_ , he was just stuck in her wake.

He loved every minute of it.

“Think it’s the other way around, Evans.”

Lily paused, halfway up the first few steps, and turned back to face him.

“Are you really allergic to chocolate?”

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

_Andromeda,_

 

_You’re never going to believe what I got Malfoy to say in front of the entire school! (Hint: You might want to watch out. He seems to have a thing for the Black sisters.) Merlin, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Cissa so mad! He said some other stuff, too, and Narcissa nearly had my head, but my wonderful, amazingly clever friend, Remus Lupin, intervened and I was saved!_

_Anyway, I’ve included a dramatic retelling of the whole affair that you can peruse at your leisure, before forwarding on to Regulus. I have a feeling he’d love it._

 

_Thanks,_

_Sirius_

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

_Merlin, Sirius!!_

 

_You should know, Feathers was in a right state after I read him your “dramatic retelling”. First, he laughed (Well, we both did—you should be a novelist, Siri!), then he wanted to storm up to Hogwarts to give Malfoy a piece of his mind. “If you think you can lay your slimy little hands on my ‘Dromeda…etc., etc.” He doesn’t mean it, of course. Neither of us are stupid enough to cross Malfoy. We’ll leave that up to you and Potter, thank you very much. I think Feathers mostly said that because I find it hot. Merlin, I love him. Ugh, sorry._

_I, um. Well. Sirius, I haven’t forwarded your “dramatic retelling” to Reg, just yet, but I will if you insist on it. I thought that even if there was the slightest chance that the Warden might be reading the letters we keep sending to Regulus, then it’s best not to risk it.If she knew about the Hiccuping Secrets, she’d only hold it against you and I don’t want to make things worse for you or Reg, come Christmas._

_Like I said, I’ll still send it if you want me to, so long as you understand the risks._

 

_Love, always,_

_Andromeda and Feathers (who requested I convey his gratitude to you)_

 

_P.S. I think I would quite like to meet your wonderful, amazingly clever friend, Remus Lupin. You’ll have to bring him next time I see you at Hagrid’s._

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

_Andromeda,_

 

_Merlin, I hadn’t thought of that at all. Don’t send it. I definitely can’t risk the Warden hearing about it. I’ll just tell Reg about it over the holidays._

_I’m glad you and Feathers enjoyed my dramatic retelling. I shall consider a career as a novelist when the time comes._

 

_Sirius_

 

_P.S. I’ll bring Remus around. Just don’t shake his hand. Don’t know why, but itfeels like you’ve thrown your entire body into the fucking sun. He’ll understand. He has suspicions on why I can’t touch anyone, but I haven’t told him the full story._

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

**SEPTEMBER 23, 1971**

 

With the help of Madam Pomfrey’s potions, it had only taken about two days for Snape’s and Malfoy’s hair to grow back, but they were a glorious two days, in which the Prewetts and four Gryffindor first years were heralded as heroes over the vanquished and bald Slytherins.

For next the two weeks, James went around the castle giving free, dramatic performances of Snape’s deepest, darkest secrets and subsequent hair-loss. Lily Evans hexed him stupid on no less than five separate occasions. There came a point when James Potter would no longer get annoyed with Lily’s hexes, but instead, he’d get this ridiculous doe-eyed look on his face and then drone on about her greatness until either Sirius or Remus hexed his mouth shut. Sirius and Remus had a working theory that James kept up the impressions of Snape for the sole purpose of falling victim to one of Lily’s hexes.

Peter, on the other hand, couldn’t figure out why someone would be that stupid. It was a fair point, Sirius conceded, but neither he nor Remus particularly felt like explaining James’s little crush to Peter.

Standing outside the Transfiguration classroom, James was under the influence of what looked to be a Babel Hex. He spouted off a stream of rapid-fire, nonsensical words, and seemed to have absolutely no clue that he was speaking gibberish. They caught bits of English, then French and Latin, and perhaps some Yiddish, along with some…

“Merlin, what language is that?” Sirius asked, scrunching his face up at James, who just kept talking.

“I think that’s Mermish,” Remus said, equally dumbfounded by James Potter’s newfound linguistic skills.

“Mermish,” Sirius repeated. “As in—”

“The language of the merpeople, yes,” Remus said. James continued to blubber on, slowly starting to realise that his friends couldn’t understand him. “Well, now I think that’s Cantonese. Or Japanese. Or Korean. I can’t really tell.”

“What do you think we sound like to him?” Peter asked.

“Hm. Good question,” Sirius said, stroking his chin. “Do you think he’s trying to tell us something?”

James let out a frustrated sigh and flicked two fingers up at him.

“See, now _that_ I understood,” Sirius said with a smirk.

Lily Evans walked in. Remus and Sirius stood and applauded.

“Excellent hex work today, Evans,” Sirius said.

“You’re truly the best out of all of us,” Remus said.

Lily took a bow.

James threw his book at Sirius’s head, but Sirius ducked, and it hit Peter square in the face. While Remus dealt with the fallout, Sirius snuck away to stand beside Lily. Together, they watched as Remus crumpled James’s homework and used it to mop the blood coming from Peter’s nose.

Lily side-eyed him. “Remus gave me the impression that you were quite handy with healing spells.”

“Oh, I am,” he said, waving his hand and conjuring a bit of his magic. “I’ll fix him before McGonagall gets here. This is too funny to cut short.”

James tried to hex Remus for destroying his homework, but the spell kept coming out in Russian and fizzling out. James threw a desperate glance at Sirius. His face immediately went slack-jawed and stupid once he caught sight of Lily.

“You should really stop, you know,” Sirius said to Lily.

She flashed him her best smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s besotted. Totally beside himself. Utterly and completely in love with you.”

“Who? _Potter?!”_ Lily wrinkled her nose. “In _love_ with me?!”

“Yes,” Sirius said, laughing a little. “You didn’t pick up on that when he _proposed_ to you?”

“I just thought he was being a berk.”

“Oh, he definitely was,” Sirius said.

James walked over to them, his full attention on Lily Evans, as he began reciting an epic love poem in what could only be understood as Pig-Latin.

Lily tried not to laugh.“Hm. Guess I’ll find a hex that’ll make him swallow his tongue next.”

Without looking away from James, Sirius said, “Careful, Evans, or I’ll fall in love with you.”

James turned beat red and glared death at Sirius.

“I’m not your type, Black,” she said with a scoff.

“Nah, you’re not my type,” he echoed.

And that was how it went.

James and Sirius, with the help of their brilliant mastermind, Remus Lupin, continued to hex Slytherins left and right. As per Sirius’s agreement with Lily, they stayed away from Snape, though Sirius refused to tell James and Remus exactly why. Malfoy and Snape watched them—Sirius could feel their gazes on the back of his neck at all times, like an evil spirit clinging to the mere taste of his flesh—but neither of them acted. They were planning something, Sirius knew, biding their time like good little Slytherins, but he didn’t let it worry him too much. He was still the Black heir, and Gryffindor though he may be, his name still afforded him some degree of protection, and his friends, by extension. Neither Malfoy nor Snape could afford to alienate themselves from one of the most powerful wizarding houses in Britain.

Though Malfoy and Snape were temporarily off the table, their Slytherin compatriots were more than fair game for the Gryffindors’ pranks. One morning, right after breakfast, Remus hit one of the Carrow twins with a sticking hex, not all that dissimilar from the one James used to glue Sirius to the bench in McGonagall’s classroom. It hadn’t done anything at first, and Sirius and James almost lost faith, but then Alecto jumped on her brother’s shoulders in excitement, when the Quidditch schedule was announced, and, well, she was quite stuck there. It’d taken Flitwick and McGonagall to get the two wailing Slytherins unstuck from each other, while the four Gryffindor boys laughed until they couldn’t breathe on the other side of the Hall.

Nights, Sirius mostly spent with Remus, on the roof, outside their dormitory after Remus came back from the library. They talked about everything not important, from the actual rules of Quidditch—because somehow Remus _still_ tuned James out every time he tried to talk about Beaters and Snitches—to an in-depth analysis and eventual debate on the philosophical implications of Mary Shelley’s _Frankenstein_. (Sirius had great sympathy for the monster, created against his will and forced to do his master’s bidding. Remus, while acknowledging that Frankenstein the man was a monster in his own right for what he’d done, refused to give any dignity to the monster’s tragic story and circumstance itself.) Then, afterwards they’d just stared at the stars for a good long while, occasionally with Sirius pointing out constellations named after his least favourite family members, they’d crawl back inside and usually end up sharing a bed, with a pillow situated between them.

Early in the mornings, when Remus was still sleeping and the sun had not quite risen, Sirius would lie awake, staring at the bed hangings or at Remus’s scars. He’d allow himself a few moments to bask in the thrill of his life here, in Gryffindor tower. It was everything his parents would hate. Everything they’d feared he’d become.

Sirius Black was _home_ , here, in this magic castle with moving staircases and talking paintings.

It was _perfect_ , this life, even in its imperfection. The consequences be damned.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

**OCTOBER 3, 1971**

 

One Sunday morning, about a month into classes, Remus Lupin stumbled into the Great Hall around nine, just as breakfast was ending, looking bleary and out of it. Remus had still been asleep when Sirius had returned to the dorm after an early morning jog through the castle. It wasn’t entirely unusual, save for the fact that now, even after a few more hours of sleep, Remus looked like he hadn’t slept at all in _days_.

Remus sat down and piled his plate with bacon. He was pale and a bit sallow, which made his scars far more noticeable than they already were. His eyes were sunken in and half-lidded, and, for a moment, Sirius wondered if Remus might be sleep-walking, until Remus glanced up at him and—

“Your eyes are gold again,” Sirius blurted.

This seemed to wake Remus up a little. He stared directly at his breakfast and his ears turned pink. “Are they?”

“Why do they do that?” Sirius asked, trying to catch another glimpse of Remus’s eyes.

“Do what?”

“Change colour.”

“They haven’t changed colour.”

“Yes, they have,” Sirius said, a little frustrated. He wasn’t fucking crazy. “Yesterday, they were this brownish colour, like honey. Today, they’re gold.”

“Those are two very similar colours, Sirius. I’m sure it’s just your imagination.”

“It is _not_!”

“What’s not?” James said, taking his seat beside Remus. Peter sat down next to Sirius and reached for some of Remus’s bacon, but then pulled his hand back when threatened by Remus’s menacing glare.

Remus forced his features back to normal. Then, with a very deliberate glare at Peter, he popped another piece of bacon in his mouth and said, “Siri thinks my eyes are changing colour.”

James grabbed Remus by the chin and stared intently into his eyes. A second later, he released him. “Maybe they’re a little different, but it’s probably just the lighting.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You are no use whatsoever, Potter.”

“Love you too, Black.”

“Peter’s on my side, aren’t you, Pete?” Sirius said, turning to him.

Peter swallowed nervously and squinted at Remus. “I’ve never really noticed the colour of his eyes to begin with. I’m not sure I should take a side.”

Sirius buried his head in his hands. “Complete and utter betrayal. Why do I even bother to keep you lot around?”

“Because we’re nice to look at,” James deadpanned.

“Nah, that’s what those magazines are for, mate,” Sirius shot back, with a wink.

Remus snickered. It took James a solid thirty seconds before he understood what Sirius meant, then, he promptly choked on his tea.

“Gross, Sirius,” James said, wiping dribble from his chin.

Sirius just shrugged. “So, Jamie, what’s the plan for tomorrow? It’s been a week or two since we’ve really done anything to Avery, and yesterday, I saw him shoving around some Hufflepuffs and calling them some unsavoury names. I hexed him, of course, but I don’t think he quite got the message.”

“Well, now that you mention it,” James said, “I procured some Dungbombs from the Prewetts—”

“Merlin, I love those two,” Sirius cut in.

“—And I was thinking that you and Remus should distract Avery. You know, taunt him and the like. Then, I’ll hit him with a numbing charm from behind, so he won’t feel anything, and Pete will slip the Dungbomb into his trousers. Avery won’t notice a thing until he starts stinking up the place.”

“Why do I have to be the one to touch his arse?” Peter whined.

Sirius ignored him and wiggled around excitedly. “Perfect. So, tomorrow after breakfast, Remus and I will—”

“I can’t,” Remus said.

All three boys turned to look at him.

“What?” Sirius said. “Why not?”

Remus refused to meet his eyes. A profound sadness seemed to wash over him.

“I have to go away again,” Remus said. “My mum…”

James’s features softened to something like sympathy. “She’s sick again?”

Remus nodded. “She’s always sick, it’s just… more, this time. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

Sirius clamped his jaw shut and didn’t say anything. He refused to react like he had last time, even though every instinct he had told him to beg Remus to stay.

“How long will you be gone?” Peter asked.

Remus gave a noncommittal shrug. “Few days, at least.”

_And he’ll come back with even more scars_ , that evil, annoyingly logical voice in Sirius’s brain supplied.

“’S no big deal,” James said, trying to wave off the air of tension that suddenly surrounded them. “We’ll wait until you’re back to get Avery, Remus.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Remus said, forcing a smile. “Avery needs to be put in his place, the sooner the better. I’ll help with the next one.”

James and Peter exchanged a glance. Sirius refused to tear his eyes from Remus.

“If you’re sure…” James said.

“I’m sure,” Remus said.

James cast a _Tempus_ spell then immediately jumped to his feet, nearly banging his knees on the table as he did so.

“Merlin, we’re supposed to meet McKinnon on the Quidditch pitch. The Prewetts are supposed to give us lessons after practice. Pete, you’re with me. Sirius, are you—”

“I’ll catch up,” Sirius said, his attention still completely on Remus.

Remus tugged at the edges of his jumper and pretended to eat a little more bacon.

“Suit yourself,” James said, then he and Peter left the Hall.

Sirius let the silence fester between them a bit, before he said, “You know what I’m going to say.”

Remus nodded. “You don’t want me to go.”

“Right,” Sirius breathed. “Any use in trying to talk you into staying?”

Remus looked down, heartbroken and defeated. “No.”

“Will you be… hurt?” Merlin, Sirius nearly choked on the question.

“That’s…” Remus hesitated. “That’s always a possibility.”

_Fuck_.

But instead of reacting, Sirius swallowed down the fire that was itching to erupt inside of him. “Will you go to Pomfrey this time?” he asked, desperately trying to keep control of his voice.

Remus seemed surprised by the question. “Pomfrey? Wha—”

“For anything I can’t heal,” Sirius explained, making a vague gesture towards Remus’s wrists. They’d scarred over pretty bad: new, pinkish gouge marks over older, deeper wounds. Remus had shown him a week ago, mostly to stop Sirius from pestering him about it. “You don’t have to show her everything, if you don’t want to, but Pomfrey has dittany for, er, _those_ kinds of wounds. I can fix whatever else there is, so long as it’s not…”

_Dark Magic._

Remus narrowed his eyes. “You’re being awfully pragmatic about this.”

“Yeah, well,” Sirius muttered. “I have to be. We’ve had this argument before—a few times, actually—so you know where I stand. I just… I guess I want you to know that I’ll be here, when you get back, to pick up the pieces. No matter what.”

Unshed tears welled in Remus’s eyes and he looked away. He managed a throaty laugh. “I, uh. I don’t want you to think less of me because I’m going, especially if I know…”

He trailed off and held up his wrists. A few of the scars peeked out from beneath the cuffs of his robes.

“I don’t!” Sirius said, startled. “Merlin, Remus, I don’t think less of you!” It’d be pretty fucking hypocritical if he did. “You’re _brave_ , you idiot. Gryffindor, down to the bones.”

Remus shook his head. “You don’t have to say that, Siri.”

“Shut up. I mean it. I wouldn’t lie to you about this. I know what it’s like to—” Merlin, how does one go about phrasing this delicately? “—to expect pain. It’s terrifying. It’s lose-your-mind kind of fear. It eats you alive. I _know._ I’d give anything to stop it, Remus, but I _can’t_. So, I’m here, no matter what. Until the end.”

Remus stared at him, apparently no longer caring that there were tears spilling down his cheeks, tracing the divots of his scars.

“The gods ask too much of you and me, Siri,” Remus said, eventually.

Sirius barked a laugh. “Fuck the gods. Didn’t Jamie tell you? Some crazy pigeon in Diagon Alley said I’m destined to kill the gods.”

“I look forward to it.”

Remus flashed him a smile and, Merlin on high, it was brilliant: golden eyes glistening between the recent memories of tears, his scars proud and unforgettable, a testament to the valour buried in his heart.

Gryffindor to the bone, indeed.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

**OCTOBER 5, 1971**

 

Remus didn’t come back for two days.

James, Sirius, and Peter pranked the Slytherins, as planned. They got caught, as predicted by Remus. They served their detentions each night with Filch, scrubbing old trophies without magic, as ordered.

None of that, however, could take Sirius’s mind off of Remus Lupin. 

Just like last time, Sirius spent every waking moment thinking up all the possible things that could be happening to Remus.

One of the more terrifying scenarios—fuelled almost entirely by a half-formed, insomnia-induced nightmare—involved Remus locked in a cage with two rabid dogs. They lunged at him, each latching onto a wrist, and began gnawing his flesh away, as Remus screamed.

Sirius had no idea where it came from, but apparently, his subconscious couldn’t shake the idea that the scars on Remus’s wrists were _teeth_ marks.

They couldn’t be, though. If they were, Sirius would be able to heal them.

_Those_ scars were from Dark Magic.

Which, naturally, led Sirius down the increasingly short list of suspects who could possibly be performing Dark Magic on Remus. Unfortunately, his list of suspects was entirely reliant on what Sirius knew of Remus’s home life, which was to say, very little.

There was Remus’s mum, of course. She was sick. Remus could be lying about that, but given that haunted look he got every time he mentioned it, Sirius doubted it. Sick people inevitably did crazy things—(Hell, anyone did, when they were in pain. It’s the cornered dog response.)—but Remus’s mother was Muggle. She couldn’t have performed Dark Magic on him.

There were a few other unlikely suspects Sirius considered, whilst lying awake alone in his bed. Remus had mentioned his grandparents in France on the train, but they were A), in France, and B), his mother’s parents and therefore Muggles.

That led Sirius to the most viable known suspect: Remus’s father. He had been in Ravenclaw and the name _Lupin_ was vaguely familiar, but Sirius was having trouble disassociating the name with Remus enough to even begin to wonder where he could have heard it mentioned before. It certainly wasn’t among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, nor did he think that Remus’s father had any sort of blood bias, given that he’d married a Muggle, but pure-blood fanatics were hardly the only ones capable of performing Dark Magic.

Something about it didn’t add up. Remus had hugged his father on the platform. Now, Sirius Black was the last person to comment on healthy physical intimacy between family members, but that hug? Remus _loved_ his father. You didn’t cling to someone like that unless you loved them, and Remus’s father had hugged him right back.

Maybe it had been an act. Merlin knows Sirius’s own parents had forced physical affection upon him and Regulus, to keep up appearances at family gatherings, but his parents had never hugged him like that. Like they’d actually meant it. Like they were genuinely concerned that the sun wouldn’t rise anymore after they’d said goodbye.

So, how could you love someone with that kind of ferocity and still use Dark Magic on them? Sirius’s own parents wouldn’t know love like that if it hit them across the face with a Beater’s bat.

Maybe, then, it _couldn’t_ be his father. Maybe it was someone else who Remus knew, but _Merlin_ , that meant this person had been doing this to Remus for years, given the sheer number of scars Remus had. It also meant that, considering hypothetically that Remus’s parents loved and cared about him, they _knew_ someone was hurting their son. There was literally no other way to explain away those scars, especially if they couldn’t be healed with ordinary healing spells. If Remus’s parents—or, more specifically, his wizard father— _knew_ , then he was complacent with the Dark Magic used against his son, which, in Sirius’s mind, was just as damning.

There was no way around it, no way to account for this discrepancy. Remus Lupin’s father loved him. Remus was a victim of Dark Magic. The two didn’t add up.

Mother of Merlin, Sirius prayed he was missing something _big_. Being completely fucking _wrong_ was far better than the idea that Remus was being tortured by a father who clearly claimed to love him.

That would be far worse than curses at the hand of a mother who constantly told her son that he was a disgrace and a blood traitor.

That kind of illusion of love… it’s inhumane. A cruelty even the Blacks could never think up.

All in all, this constant speculation did little to improve Sirius’s mood.

Lily Evans, however, certainly did. Over the past two days, she’d been keeping Sirius company when he wasn’t with James and Peter. She’d also stepped in for Remus as the resident expert on Muggle literature.

“He made you read _Frankenstein?_ ” she asked, on Tuesday morning, as she and Sirius walked back to class after lunch.

“He didn’t _make_ me,” Sirius insisted. He spun around on his heel and walked backwards, a pace or two in front of Lily. “He recommended it. I had a choice. And, besides, I _liked_ it. It was… romantic, in a horrifically tragic sort of way. Muggles have a fascinating notion of—”

“ _Romantic_?” Lily repeated. “ _Frankenstein_ is not romantic. There’s no love story. The monster kills Frankenstein’s wife.”

“It’s not about the stupid wife!” Sirius insists. “It’s about the monster! He’s in love with humanity, but humanity rejects him because of what he is, and it breaks his heart. He acts out of heartbreak, not because of what he is!”

Lily raises an incredulous eyebrow. “It’s a horror story, Sirius. Not a romance.”

“Why can’t it be both?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“If you like romances so much, you should read one of my books,” Lily said, not quite conceding to his point, but clearly not wanting to argue it further. Sirius claimed it as a victory.

“Is it a Muggle book?”

“Yes.”

“With murder, mayhem, and maybe a thought provoking inquiry as to the state of the human condition?”

“Of course,” she said, with a small smile. “And this time with a structured love story.”

“Ooh,” Sirius cooed, waggling his eyebrows. “Is it one of those sexy Muggle novels, Evans? I won’t judge.”

She whacked him with her textbook, barely missing grazing him with her fingers. “No, you prat. But… it’s French.”

“French?”

“Yes, it’s—”

They stopped at a corner, the sound of angry voices echoing from up ahead. Sirius and Lily leaned against the wall and listened.

“Watch where you’re going, arsehole!” That was Snape’s voice.

Lily gasped. Sirius made to round the corner, but she placed her hand on his chest and shoved him back against the wall, before releasing him. He winced and glared at her. She glared right back and waved a threatening finger in his face, demanding he stay put.

“Look, Snape, I’m not in the mood to start anything right now, so if you could just—”

Remus. That was _Remus._

“Weren’t you listening, half-breed?” Fucking Malfoy. “He said you’re in the way.”

“Well, actually, what he said was—”

There was a scuffle. Then a slam.

Then Remus cried out in pain.

Sirius absolutely fucking lost his shit.

Lily immediately slapped a hand over his mouth and wrapped her other arm around his middle to keep him from running in half-cocked.

Every nerve in his body was on fire. He was burning alive. That was the only explanation.

“Fuck, Evans, let go!” he hissed, shaking her hand away from his mouth. She just grabbed his wrist and used her entire weight to pull him backwards.

Through gritted teeth, she managed to keep her voice down. “No, Sirius, please, you need to—”

“Let go! It _hurts!”_ he whispered, as loud as he dared.

Instantly, she sprang back, holding up her hands. She looked him up and down, and he could see the pieces clicking into place in her eyes.

She’d figured out his secret.

Merlin, he didn’t have time to think about that right now. 

“I know what you are, you disgusting little freak!” Malfoy sneered, from around the corner. “My father sits on the board of governors. A thing like you shouldn’t even be allowed inside the gates!”

Remus whimpered.

Sirius rounded the corner just in time to see Malfoy drive his fist into Remus’s ribs.

Remus crumpled.

“Malfoy!” Sirius shouted.

Malfoy whirled and drew his wand.

Sirius was faster. He made a slashing movement with his wand. “ _Sectumsempra!_ ”

A gash appeared, vertically down the left side of Malfoy’s face, and Malfoy staggered backwards with a loud cry of pain.

Severus Snape drew his wand and started towards Sirius, but Sirius merely flicked his wrist and Snape went flying. Vaguely, he heard Lily shout Snape’s name behind him, but Sirius only had eyes for Malfoy.

Blood gushing from the slash on his face, Malfoy managed to stand, furious silver eyes trained on Sirius.

“Oh, you stupid _cunt!”_ Malfoy yelled.

Sirius dropped his wand and all but launched himself at Malfoy. The force of his weight knocked Malfoy back. Sirius curled his fingers and slammed the palm of his hand into Malfoy’s nose once, twice—until he heard it break. Malfoy elbowed his ribs. It hurt, but Sirius did not fucking care. He dug his fingernails into Malfoy’s cheeks and throat.

He wasn’t aware of anyone shouting except Malfoy, not until two unimaginably strong arms wrapped around Sirius’s waist and pulled.

_Holy mother of—_

Sirius screamed.

There was no pain on heaven or on earth that could ever compete with _that_.

He fell backwards, using whatever strength he had left in him to roll away from Remus.

His breath came in deep, wheezing rasps and his throat felt raw. His vision swirled a little, until Remus’s face came into focus. There were two new gashes across Remus’s chin and down his neck. The lines ran parallel to each other and looked deep and painful, but Sirius knew, beyond a doubt, that Malfoy hadn’t done those. Remus reached for Sirius, then pulled back, just as fast, but it was enough for Sirius to see the blood dripping down Remus’s fingers.

Without warning, Malfoy got to his feet and charged them, his long, white hair a wild and blood-stained curtain around his face.

Sirius wasn’t expecting the kick to his ribs, nor the one that followed. He curled in on himself, but Malfoy kept kicking him.

“No!” Remus shouted. He shoved his way between Sirius and Malfoy and stood up to his full height. He grabbed hold of the front of Malfoy’s robes, as Malfoy tried to make another go for Sirius. “Christ, Malfoy, STOP IT!”

In a flash, Malfoy had his wand pointed directly at Remus’s head.

“Let go of me, you _fucking_ animal!” Malfoy said, his voice remarkably steady.

Remus did not move.

Every bit of magic left in him ignited. Sirius pulled himself to his feet, then stepped around Remus. With a shout, Sirius held out his arm and Malfoy went _flying_ across the hall, until he collided with an armour statue and fell to the ground, unconscious and bleeding.

“SIRIUS BLACK, STAND DOWN THIS INSTANT!”

Sirius and Remus whirled around.

McGonagall and Rattleburn came running down the corridor, both of their wands raised and pointed at him.

_Oh, fuck_.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

He wasn’t sure how long he and Remus sat in McGonagall’s office.

They hadn’t spoken to each other, besides the muttered, “Thanks,” when Remus handed Sirius his wand back. He hadn’t even realised Remus had picked the stupid thing up. As far as he could tell, Lily made it out of the corridor with Snape before McGonagall and Rattleburn showed up. That was consolation, at least. McGonagall was one thing, but Sirius was pretty sure Lily Evans would have his head for this.

The good news: there was a very slim chance that any of this would actually get back to his mother. Sirius didn’t think Malfoy would go around bragging about how he was beat up by a couple of first years any time soon. Even if he told Narcissa—(He’d have to, eventually. She was bloody persistent.)—it wasn’t likely that Cissa would go about telling anyone else. It didn’t exactly look good that her betrothed was unable to stand against a pariah heir and his half-blood friend.

The bad news? Lily was angry and had more than likely worked out Sirius’s secret, McGonagall was furious, and Remus Lupin had yet to actually speak to him.

Sirius kept his general sense of panic at bay by sneaking glances at Remus. Along with the deep cuts along Remus’s chin and neck, there was a smaller scratch across the bridge of his nose that already looked like it was healing. Remus kept his hands clasped together on his lap, but Sirius could see blood seeping from beneath each cuff. Whatever happened, Remus’s wrists were in bad shape again. Other than that, he seemed relatively fine. As far as Sirius noticed, Remus hadn’t been walking hunched over or wheezing like last time, so he figured Remus’s ribs were all right.

His own ribs… well, not so much. Normally, he’d prefer to look in the mirror before he performed a healing charm on himself—especially a wandless healing charm—but Sirius didn’t particularly want to appear weak in front of McGonagall. He’d need his wits about him. He was in enough trouble, as is.

Sirius sat up as straight as he could manage. With one hand, he prodded his ribcage, just to be certain that nothing was broken or would require another spell. Then, calling his magic to his fingertips, Sirius muttered, “ _Episkey_.”

He let out a hiss as the magic worked over his bruises. He sat up straighter and wiggled a little, to make sure there was no lingering damage.

Remus glanced at him from the corner of his eye. (They were amber again, Sirius noted.) “Are you all right?”

Sirius shrugged. “I should be asking you that.”

“I’m fine, Siri.”

Sirius gave him a weak nod. Merlin, he didn’t know what to say.

Thankfully, McGonagall stormed in, a flurry of burgundy robes.

“Black, Lupin,” she said, coming to stand behind her desk. “I should like an explanation. Right _now_.”

Remus and Sirius glanced at each other. Then, Remus turned back to McGonagall, the picture of innocence and remorse. “How’s—”

“Malfoy will be fine,” she snapped. “He will scar, but he will be fine.”

Sirius nearly choked on the air in his lungs. “He’ll _scar?!_ ”

“You used Dark Magic on him, Black,” McGonagall said. “Of course it will scar.”

“No, it wasn’t—” _Fuck._ “It wasn’t Dark Magic!”

“It was a curse.”

“Which, strictly speaking, isn’t _necessarily_ Dark Magic,” Sirius argued. “A curse doesn’t have to be Dark. It wasn’t an Unforgivable.”

“It doesn’t matter,” McGonagall said, cooly. “Lucius Malfoy will have that scar for the rest of his life because of you, Mr. Back.”

“He attacked Remus!” Sirius protested, because _Merlin_ , he had to say something.

McGonagall turned to Remus. “Mr. Lupin, is that true?”

Slowly, Remus nodded. “Malfoy shoved me against the wall.”

“And punched you,” Sirius supplied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And punched me.”

“And said you didn’t deserve to be at Hogwarts because you’re a half-blood.”

Remus was silent for a moment, before he said, “Yeah.”

McGonagall’s expression did not soften. “You’re saying this was self-defence, Black?”

“Merlin, _yes!_ I was stopping Malfoy from hurting Remus!”

“So you cursed him?”

“Yes.”

“And broke his nose?”

“Yes.”

“And threw him against a wall?”

Sirius rose to his feet. “He fucking deserved it!”

McGonagall just stared him down. “Mr. Black, I have never tolerated that kind of language and I will not make an exception now. You will—”

“Malfoy started this. I stopped it. End of story.”

“You cursed a fellow student! You could have blinded him!”

“None of you lot were going were there to help! And even if you’d seen it, would you have done anything? Malfoy’s a fucking prefect and his father practically runs the Ministry. Malfoy has more power at this school than anyone but Dumbledore!”

McGonagall’s lips formed a thin, white line. “I could have you expelled for this, Black.”

Sirius barked a laugh, because otherwise, he thought his panic might swallow him whole. “Yeah? And how else did you plan on keeping an eye on the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black? You and Dumbledore seem to think my family’s full of Dark Magic and—who are we kidding?—it _is_. So I’m sure ol’ Dumbledore would be thrilled to hear you expelled the Black heir and resident fuck-up. You could have turned me into your very own _spy_. Bet you’ll be needing one, in few years or so.”

McGonagall’s face didn’t give anything away. “Was that a threat?”

“It’s a _fact_!”

Remus tugged on the edges of Sirius’s robes, careful not to make contact with his flesh. “Sirius, sit _down_!”

Sirius sat down.

“Professor,” Remus said, his voice measured, “no matter the outcome, Sirius’s intentions were noble. He just… got a little carried away.”

Sirius huffed, but didn’t contradict him.

McGonagall regarded them for a long moment. “Lucius Malfoy will be instructed to leave the two of you alone, on the threat of losing his prefect badge and incurring further disciplinary action.”

Sirius actually laughed. “Well, that’s bloody brilliant!”

“ _Language_ , Mr. Black,” McGonagall snapped. “I’m not finished. Black, you shall serve one month’s detention with me, starting tonight. And you will write me a long, well-researched essay on the damaging effects of curses, specifically those that are not, as you say, strictly Dark Magic. I want three full rolls of parchment, to be turned into me at your final detention.”

All right. All things considered, that wasn’t too bad.

“And I shall be writing your parents immediately.”

All of the blood washed out of Sirius’s face. He jumped to his feet, on pure instinct. “What?! No, you can’t just—”

Remus rose to his feet as well. “Professor, I really don’t think that’s necessary—”

McGonagall did not so much as blink. “Given the severity of Mr. Malfoy’s injuries, I’m afraid you leave me little choice.”

“No, _please!_ ” Sirius all but shouted.

_Fuck, no. No. No. No. No._

“I-I swear,” Sirius stuttered, and _fuck!_ “Malfoy—He won’t say a word about where he got that scar. He’ll be too bloody embarrassed. It was just a stupid fight! My parents—”

“Your parents will be notified about the situation,” McGonagall said, fixing him with a hard stare.

Sirius’s hands started to shake. He clenched them into fists, absolutely refusing to allow McGonagall to see the extent of the terror eating him alive from the inside.

“Malfoy’s basically my cousin,” Sirius said, forcing his voice to sound calm. “You can’t tell my parents. Please, Professor. They’ll—”

Sirius suddenly clamped his mouth shut.

_No._

“They’ll _what_ , Mr. Black?”

_Hate me. Hurt me, maim me, kill me. Destroy me completely, then throw me away._

Sirius felt the tears welling in his eyes, and he fought them back with everything he had left in him. He did not open his mouth.

Remus glanced desperately between him and McGonagall. “Sirius can serve a longer detention, Professor,” Remus suggested.“With Filch, even. Or shovelling out the hippogryph pens with Hagrid. Or—”

Sirius would do _anything_.

“I’m afraid the protocol for disciplining such actions is quite clear. Your parents will be notified, Mr. Black. That’ll be the end of it. Am I understood?”

Every ounce of hope seeped out of him. Sirius managed weak nod.

“Good,” McGonagall said, taking absolutely no notice of the virtual death sentence she’d placed on his head. “Mr. Lupin, you’re excused. Black, your detention may as well start now.”

Remus did not move for a long moment. Instead, he just stared at Sirius, trying to catch his eye, but Sirius refused to move. If he did, he’d break down in tears. Or run screaming through the halls and end up jumping off the Astronomy Tower.

There was no escaping this. Sirius Black was fucked.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so it might not be every two weeks, but I can promise you that when it is updated, the chapters will be so long that AO3 sends me a passive aggressive message saying, “Are you sure you don’t want to break this into multiple chapters?” Answer: No, I don’t. Enjoy your 23K word chapters. 
> 
> Up next: Consequences!


	6. The Marauders

******OCTOBER 5, 1971**

 

Sirius was exhausted by the time McGonagall dismissed him for the night, somewhere around eleven. More accurately, he felt like he’d gone about six rounds with an enraged hippogryph. His limbs felt like lead, his face was a mask of unshed tears and fury, and what was left of his sanity seeped out around round four. All he wanted to do was collapse face first in his bed, have a good cry, and never fucking wake up.

Unfortunately, Lily Evans seemed to have other plans. She was waiting for him, in the otherwise-empty common room, when he finally crawled through the portrait hole. Her face was diplomatically neutral as she stood and looked him up and down, but he saw it in her eyes all the same.

Merlin, he couldn’t do this right now.

“Look, Evans, Snape started it. He’s lucky he doesn’t have a pretty little scar of his own, for saying that kind of shit to Remus. I’m not going to—”

She held up a hand and he stopped.

“This isn’t about Snape.” Lily drew her wand and muttered, “ _Muffliato.”_

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them really wanting to make the first move or give anything away. Eventually, Lily rolled her eyes and gestured to the couches. She sat down across from Sirius.

Merlin, whatever hope he’d had that she _hadn’t_ seen straight through his very soul evaporated on the spot. She _knew_.

“I’ve been researching—” She made a vague hand gesture at him “— _this_ , you know.”

“Oh?” His voice came out weak. Exhausted and noncommittal.

“After what you said when Malfoy cursed me, I had to.”

Sirius scoffed. “Find anything interesting?”

Lily didn’t bat an eye. “Show me your tattoo.”

_Fuck._

“Evans,” he started, his voice cracking. “I don’t—”

Her expression softened. “Sirius, I didn’t mean to… But, Christ, I need to know. I think I can find a way to help both of us. Yes or no. Do you have a blood curse tattoo?”

“Yes.” Sirius scrubbed his face, grateful for the small mercy that no tears had fallen.

“Where?”

“Above my heart,” he whispered, absently rubbing the spot.

“And I’m assuming it’s a family crest of some kind?”

“Something like that.”

Lily nodded, thankfully not pressing more for specifics. “Does Narcissa have one too?”

Sirius grimaced. “Yes. As does every Black born in the past five generations. Even the Squibs. My great-uncle Marius went insane because of the blood curse. The magic was too strong and it was quite literally burning him alive. He had no magic of his own to counterbalance the force of the blood curse. He killed himself not long after he was disowned by his father.”

“Jesus Christ,” Lily muttered. “How old were you when they did this to you?”

“Eight.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, Sirius.”

“Why are you sorry?” he grumbled, indignant. “You didn’t do anything, Evans.”

Lily Evans gave him a withering glare. “No one should do that to a child. I don’t care who you are or what kind of superiority complex you have. Putting a blood curse on a child is _wrong_ , full stop.”

He didn’t disagree in the slightest, but what the hell was he supposed to say, when she was staring at him like that? There was a horrible look of vengeance in her green eyes, like she was about to hunt down every last branch of his family tree and force her wrath upon them for daring to put their brand on him.

Merlin, he didn’t deserve that kind of devotion. Not from Lily Evans, of all people.

Thankfully, Lily seemed to sense the weight slowly settling on his shoulders. The fire faded from her eyes and she shot him a small, sad smile. “I want to talk to you about this, Sirius,” she said. “But not tonight. It’s been a long day.”

He gave a noncommittal nod.

“There has to be a cure,” Lily said, almost as if to convince herself. “Or a counter-curse or an antidote or _something_. I’m going to find it and—”

“There’s no cure, Evans.” His voice was hardly more than a whisper. “I’ve looked.”

“Yes, there is. There has to be. You haven’t looked in the Hogwarts library, or in the Restricted Section. We’ll find something. We just need to learn more about your tattoo.”

He didn’t tell her that the Black family library was far more extensive than anything that could possibly be at Hogwarts, particularly when it came to Dark Magic and blood curses. If there was a way around the blood curse, then it wasn’t in any book that he knew of. As far as Sirius was concerned, looking for a cure was a lost cause, but he wasn’t about to tell Evans that. He couldn’t. Not when she was still looking at him like he might be worth more than his name and the brand above his heart.

Instead, he gave a weak nod.

“I’d like to meet up with you to show you what I have and maybe work out a plan,” she said.

He could have turned her down. In fact, what’s left of the rational part of his brain screamed that he very well _should_ turn her down, then get on with his life, pretending that Lily Evans doesn’t know about the Black family brand. It’d only put her in the line of fire, messing with something like this, and, ultimately, it would amount to nothing because there’s no magic antidote to the blood curse tattoo that wouldn’t involve some seriously Dark Magic.

_Andromeda found a way_ , that annoyingly hopeful voice in the back of his head whispered.

Merlin, he didn’t have enough capacity for intelligent thought left to deal with all of this tonight, so he said, “Next week. After Defense. I’ll meet you in the library.”

Lily smiled at him, her green eyes twinkling with excitement. “I’ll see you then.” She stood to head up to her dorm. “Goodnight, Sirius. And… I’m sorry if I hurt you. You know, earlier.”

“It’s not your fault, Evans,” he muttered, rising to his feet. “Goodnight.”

Without looking back, he headed for the stairs. There was a moment, there, when Sirius thought he wouldn’t be able to make it up the steps, that he’d just fold in on himself and disappear. The ramifications of attacking and permanently scarring Malfoy slowly began to dawn on him. For one thing, it meant that he’d inadvertently declared war on the Slytherins. James Potter, the reckless fuck, would be thrilled. As would Peter, by default. Sirius had no doubt that Remus would stand by his side no matter what, but it was dangerous to drag his friends into this fight. Slytherins, by nature, fought dirty, and _this_ … _This_ , whatever he’d started, had the distinct undertones of something dark, looming, and soul-shattering.

More pressing, of course, than the impending war, was his mother. At this point, Sirius was fairly certain that Walburga Black wouldn’t even hesitate: the second Sirius stepped into Grimmauld Place, she’d use the Killing Curse on him and mount his head on the walls with the house elves.

Then again, his mother always did favor torture and such a quick end might rob her of the pleasure of listening to him scream.

His vision swirling, Sirius managed to push the door to the dormitory. He didn’t know if he was crying or hyperventilating, or maybe a little of both, but he was having a hell of a hard time seeing straight as he closed the door behind him. Sirius slid down the wood paneled door, then sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, both hands in his hair, and he tried to remember how to breathe.

Vaguely, he was aware of his surroundings, but not enough to focus on any one thing. James’s and Peter’s hangings were closed. Peter snored loudly. The window to the roof was open and pale moonlight streamed in the room. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted.

Someone whispered his name, frantic and scared, but it hardly registered in the midst of the chaos in his own mind. Sirius drew in a shaky breath and forced himself to calm down. It was only then that he realized that Remus Lupin was crouching next to him, his amber eyes wide and concerned. Remus’s hand hovered over him, not touching, but clearly trying to calm him down.

After a moment, Remus whispered, “Can you stand?” His voice sounded tired, but almost… relieved.

Sirius nodded and, using the door for support, managed to push himself to his feet. He stood there, awkwardly, the remnants of his panic attack not quite out of his system.

Remus watched him for a second, then went to his bed and yanked off the duvet. He turned back to Sirius, the blanket clutched in his hands. He raised an eyebrow at Sirius. “Trust me?”

Again, Sirius nodded.

It took him a second, to realize what Remus was trying to do, and once he did, Sirius didn’t protest. As carefully as he could manage, Remus wrapped the duvet around Sirius, draping the middle over Sirius’s head and letting the blanket fall across his shoulders.

Sirius caught the ends of the blanket and pulled it tight against his chest. “You’re messing up my hair,” he mumbled, pouting a little.

“You can steal James’s hair potion in the morning. I know where he keeps it,” Remus said, with a small laugh. “Now come here, you.”

Remus all but pulled Sirius into an embrace and Sirius was helpless but to fall into it. The duvet largely impeded his movements, but it also shielded him from excruciating pain. The duvet served as a barrier between his face and Remus’s shoulder, between his hands and Remus’s chest, as Remus wrapped his arms tightly around Sirius and held him close. Unable to hug back because of the duvet clutched tightly in his hands, Sirius closed his eyes and pretended the entire world had been swallowed up by this blanket, by the strength of Remus Lupin’s embrace.

It still hurt. Of course it did. That stupid fucking tattoo was relentless, but Sirius refused to allow it to rob him of this moment. He relished Remus’s touch, almost, because _this_ pain was his choice. It was a slow torture, sure: a small flame underneath the surface of his skin, building, quaking, ready to erupt at a moment’s notice, at one wrong brush of skin against skin, but _this_ …

_This_ moment, wrapped in a duvet and Remus Lupin’s arms, _this_ was his. It was overwhelming and not enough all at the same time, because Sirius Black needed to be touched, even if it killed him. He needed to feel someone else against him, around him, consuming him. He’d needed it for so fucking long, and Merlin alive, here he was, wrapped up in Remus Lupin.

He’d give almost anything—fight any deity or being who held the power enough to change his fate, to erase his tattoo—just to stay in Remus’s arms for just another minute. It was safe, here. He knew that with every fiber of his being. Remus would protect him, just as Sirius vowed to do the same for him. Remus wouldn’t let the Slytherins win this war. Remus wouldn’t let his mother mount his head in Grimmauld Place, next to the house elves. Likewise, Sirius would heal Remus’s scars, and one day, Sirius would eviscerate the monster that dared sink its claws into Remus’s skin.

That’s what this was, really: an unspoken promise to stand with each other, come whatever, despite whatever pain or torture or monsters or secrets await them. It was perfect, in its blatant imperfection. It was _safe._

Sirius Black hadn’t felt safe in a very long time.

Remus held onto him until Sirius began to tense up, the pain finally reaching a threshold that could no longer be ignored. Remus pulled back. Sirius shuffled his feet and gave Remus a weak smile. He slid the duvet off of his head and held it out to Remus, this time careful not to touch. Remus tossed the blanket back on his bed, before turning back to Sirius.

“Roof or bed?” Remus asked, simply, and that was all he needed for Sirius to understand. _Roof_ , and they’ll have a talk about what happened with Malfoy, about McGonagall’s punishment, about Sirius’s virtual death sentence. _Bed_ , and they’ll sleep it off, then pretend to forget about it in the morning.

Merlin, Sirius was grateful for the choice.

“Roof,” he answered, almost immediately.

A smarter man might have insisted on going to sleep and forgetting the whole ordeal as long as conceivably possible, but Sirius was so far beyond acting rationally tonight. He wanted to stay awake with Remus. He wanted to talk to him, have a little bit of a breakdown, maybe learn how to laugh again. He needed someone to criticize his attack on Malfoy, but acknowledge why he’d done it. That desperation—that fire and fury and horrifying _terror_ that had nearly eaten him alive when he’d heard Malfoy punch Remus—well, he needed to make sure that Remus was alright, at the very least.

More importantly, Sirius wanted someone to acknowledge the fact that he was so royally fucked and Sirius didn’t have a goddamned clue of what to do about it.

It was so much different than talking to Lily.

As much as he liked Lily Evans—and honestly, it surprised him _how_ much, given how they’d started out—Sirius would wear himself thin ensuring that she never shared in the burden secret or a nightmare this terrifying. She’d never understand why he’d kept his tattoo a secret in the first place. Remus would; he might hate the secret—as Sirius hated all of Remus’s—but he’d understand the overwhelming need to keep it quiet.

They were fundamentally the same, him and Remus. They both had nightmares and secrets and scars and horrible monsters ready and willing to tear them to shreds. These secrets were merely the truths of their existence, mutually acknowledged: an uncompromising burden that neither of them was strong enough to bear alone. The fact was, Remus Lupin understood him, down the very fibers of his being.

Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to get much sleep anyway.

Sirius followed Remus out the window and onto the roof. He sat down next to Remus, close but not touching, and waved his hand to cast a warming charm over them.

Remus gave him a small smile, then drew his legs up and draped his long arms over his knees, before turning his eyes to the sky. A dense fog hung over the castle, blurring the grounds, but the sky remained remarkably clear. The stars shone bright, a dazzling counterpoint to the waning moon.

Sitting in a comfortable silence, Sirius slowly turned his gaze from the night sky to Remus. The moon cast a silver glow over both of them, but it seemed to catch on Remus, illuminating him and immortalizing him in silver. His eyes, though… They were almost gold again. Almost, but not quite, but still as bright as the sun, even in the darkness.

Sirius never wanted to look away.

Remus shifted imperceptibly closer and finally tore his eyes away from the sky. “Siri?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I… ask you some questions?”

Sirius sighed. He’d known this was coming. “Yes.”

Tentatively, Remus reached out a hand and let it hover, just over Sirius’s own where it rested on the shingles.

“It hurts when I touch you.” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement of a mutually acknowledged fact.

“Yes,” he whispered. “More than anything I’ve ever felt.”

Remus immediately yanked his hand back. “It hurts when Evans touches you?”

“Yes.”

“But not Malfoy?”

Sirius hung his head in defeat. “No. Not Malfoy.”

“Because he’s pure-blood,” Remus said simply.

“I can’t...” Sirius choked out. His eyes burned with shame and unshed tears and panic itched at the edges of his consciousness. “I can’t, Remus. I swear to you, I’ll explain, but not right now. I can’t—”

It should be easy, to tell Remus this secret. Hell, Lily Evans had had him dead to rights down in the common room not ten minutes ago and he’d confirmed her every suspicion.

This was different.

This was a _confession_.

This was admitting that he’d been branded by his family, marked heir apparent and was therefore complicit in his parents’ crusade against anyone of lesser blood. As much as he hated his mark now, Sirius knew his resolve would weaken. That was the purpose of the tattoo, wasn’t it? To detach him from any affiliation with his inferiors. He’d shy away from touch and friendship, because who could honestly befriend something as cursed and broken as him? The pain and resentment from every attempt at friendship or love would chip away at any resolve for change he’d once had, until he withered away into the malicious heir his mother had longed for since before Sirius was conceived.

The tattoo on his chest was proof: Sirius Black, Gryffindor or not, was an inevitability, in every respect. He was not strong enough to fight his brand or his fate.

Sirius was not brave enough to tell Remus.

He felt raw and exposed and he wanted that goddamned blanket back just so he could hide underneath it. His skin itched and _Merlin,_ every nerve felt like it was scrubbed bare. He folded his arms against his chest, desperately trying to make himself smaller. He was panicking, again, and he knew it, but he was absolutely fucking powerless to stop it.

“Hey!” Remus said, his voice forceful, but kind. “Hey, it’s alright, Siri. Just breathe, okay? You don’t have to talk, just breathe. Siri, please. Just breathe for me, yeah?”

His breaths came out raspy, but Sirius did his best. It was easier, he found, not to panic when he stared into Remus’s eyes.

Bit by bit, he forced his breathing back to normal. When Remus saw he was no longer at risk of hyperventilating, he backed off and leaned back against the brick wall. Sirius watched him, because, honestly, how could he not?

“Did you learn that spell from your mother?” Remus’s question was so quiet that Sirius almost missed it against the ambient noise of the castle and the surrounding moors from this far up.

Sirius expected his heart rate to pick up again, the panic to itch underneath his skin, but instead, he just felt… numb. “Yes.”

Remus’s expression didn’t change. “Did she use it on you?”

Sirius let out a broken, self-depreciating laugh. “Walburga Black doesn’t leave marks. Not on her heir, at least,” he said bitterly. “She uses it on the house elf, mostly.”

“The spell… worked, then? When you did it?”

Sirius’s face scrunched up in confusion, because, _of course_ , the spell worked. Malfoy was scarred and bleeding, wasn’t he?

“Yes, the spell worked. Why the hell wouldn’t—” The question was halfway out of Sirius’s mouth when the answer smacked him in the face. “Oh.”

Sirius reached in his pocket and pulled out his wand.

Remus grimaced a little and gestured at the wand. “You can’t transfigure a thistle into a rose, without turning it to ash, but you can use a spell like _that_ just fine?”

Remus didn’t sneer or cast blame, or even emphasize the full extent of the horrifying fact he’d outlined with his question: that Sirius was darkness incarnate, that it lived and breathed within him, and devoured anything light that came within his grasp. Remus’s voice was gentle, kind even. Far kinder than Sirius deserved, really.

Sirius swallowed, his throat impossibly tight. Tears welled in his eyes and he refused to look at Remus. “I’m a Black,” he choked out. “Magic like that is as natural as breathing.”

It was true, wasn’t it? He hadn’t thought twice about using the Sectumsempra, and it _had_ done exactly what it was supposed to. He’d meant to maim, to hurt, to carve a mark into Malfoy’s skin in retribution for what he’d done to Remus. Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Not really. He was terrified of the consequences—of McGonagall, his mother, and that horrible pit of darkness festering within his every nerve—but, Merlin alive, Malfoy had deserved it.

And Sirius’s wand had obeyed him. It hadn’t backfired or sputtered out or refused to cooperate.

_Magic as natural as breathing._

He traced a finger up and down the length of his wand, as if saying a prayer over the runes etched into the enchanted willow wood could save the wand from its fate. His wand was still the same tangle of heavy coldness it had been since he’d cast the Cruciatus. No more, no less.

Ollivander had been right, of course, when he’d said the first spell cast with a wand determined the character of the wand itself and that of the wizard who wielded it.

There was a darkness, gnawing at his insides. Sirius felt it, late at night, when there was no one else to distract him from the voices in his head: this all-consuming parasite inside of him, burning away his sanity bit by bit. This… _abyss_ threatened to erupt from him, every damn time he held his wand. It’d consume him, in the end. Of that, he was absolutely certain. He’d been weighed, measured, and condemned, ever since he’d muttered his first spell.

The thing was, he wasn’t sorry he’d thrown the Cruciatus curse, for the same damn reason he’d never learn to regret hurting Malfoy. Regulus wouldn’t be alive if he hadn’t intervened. Sirius didn’t regret the Unforgivable, and perhaps that was worse. The Cruciatus had killed his wand and damned his soul and he’d never be fucking forgiven for what he did, but Regulus was still _alive_ , for Merlin’s sake. In the end, no matter how much it fucked up his life, no matter the darkness swelling in the depths of his own soul, no matter how much it terrified him, Regulus was alive because Sirius damned himself.

Malfoy would be forced to leave Remus alone because Sirius had cursed him.

If that was the price, if that was what it cost to keep the people he loved breathing, then Sirius would hold his head high, march through the gates of hell, then snog the devil himself right on the mouth.

“Was it actually Dark Magic?” Remus asked, his voice far too casual for that sort of question. “That Septum— What was it again?”

“Sectumsempra. And no. It’s not inherently Dark,” he said, but Sirius wasn’t as convinced of his answer as he had been with McGonagall.

Magic, by and large, had everything to do with the intention of the person who cast the spell. Sirius had meant to hurt Malfoy, had fully intended to make him _bleed_ for what he’d done to Remus, and his dying wand had responded without a hitch. The spell itself might not be inherently Dark, but that meant nothing for the ravenous abyss clawing away at Sirius’s soul.

Malfoy would bear the scar for the rest of his life. That, alone, was proof enough of Dark Magic.

Remus watched him closely. “Are you going to be alright, Sirius? Your mum…”

Remus trailed off, unable to make himself finish the thought, and Merlin, Sirius couldn’t fault Remus for it. Sirius didn’t have the words or the willpower to explain the horror he knew he’d have to face when he returned to Grimmauld Place.

“I have until Christmas,” he said, and there it was: his fate sealed in four words.

Instead of replying, Remus gave him a small nod. He shifted a little bit and the moonlight caught on his new scars: two parallel gouges, etched into his lower jawbone and trailing down the side of his neck. They were still raw and bloody, the edges of the wounds puffy and jagged because of the freshly-torn flesh. They’d scabbed over, since this afternoon, and maybe looked a little better, but Sirius thought it could just be a trick of the light. They’d scar, too. Of that, Sirius was certain.

Mother of Merlin, who could have possibly _done_ that to Remus?

He’d been so concerned with his own web of secrets and internalised panic that he’d forgotten about the whirlwind of an afternoon Remus had had. Remus had returned from whatever hell he’d been in, acquired two new, very visible scars, and then had been assaulted by Malfoy. Fuck, that’d been the whole reason Sirius had thrown himself head first into this whole mess in the first place: Remus was _hurt_ and he’d almost forgotten about it.

Then, something occurred to him.

“McGonagall didn’t say anything about those cuts on your face.”

“Hmm?” Remus replied, still half-caught in the mesmerising aura of the night sky.

“She made such a big deal about Malfoy’s brand new scar, but she didn’t mention _yours_ ,” Sirius said, and _now_ Remus was paying attention to him. “Malfoy’s Slytherin. You’re Gryffindor. Even if she’d thought you were causing shit—which, she didn’t. She thought it was all me, which it was, but that’s not the point. If she thought you’d been hurt or _scarred_ , she’d have had Malfoy’s head on a plate, which means—”

“Sirius,” Remus warned.

“McGonagall knew Malfoy didn’t do _that_ to you.” Sirius gestured wildly at the gouge marks on Remus’s face.

“Look, Sirius, I don’t want to fight about this tonight—”

“Do you want me to heal them?”

Remus shut his mouth and stared unblinking at Sirius.

“I mean,” Sirius continued, mistaking Remus’s silence for something else. He tucked his wand back into the pocket of his robes. He reached out a hand, tracing the lines of the scars with his fingers a few inches above Remus’s face. “I won’t use my wand. I can do it wandlessly. You know I can. I swear it won’t hurt.”

Remus shook his head. “They won’t heal, Sirius. And Madam Pomfrey already fixed the bruises.”

“Oh.” Sirius felt his soul shatter all over again. He couldn’t heal Remus, like he had with Regulus. He couldn’t make it better, or stop the horror from devouring the both of them. He was fucking powerless to stop it. All that remained was pain and scars and—

More Dark Magic.

They were surrounded by it on all sides, him and Remus. There was no escaping, no running away and forgetting, just darkness and pain and a never-ending saga of fate and inevitability.

“How’d you get the scars, Remus?” he choked out.

It wasn’t fair for him to ask, not tonight, after everything he’d deliberately not told Remus, but Sirius couldn’t help himself. He had to know. He had to stop it. He wasn’t going to let that old, familiar darkness take Remus too.

Remus let out a self-depreciating laugh. “I tried to shave, but… missed a bit.”

“Not good enough,” Sirius growled.

“I ran with scissors.”

“I’m not messing around here.”

“My mother’s cat has had it in for me ever since the frying pan incident.”

“Remus!”

Remus shot him a wicked smirk, half desperate gallows humour, half heartbreak. “I’ve been brainstorming. Are any of these more convincing than _I fell out of a tree_? I could really use some feedback.”

Sirius glared at him, willing himself to be angry, but to no avail. There was not enough left of the shattered pieces of himself to be angry with Remus for long, especially when they were both desperate and broken and in dire need to make light of something that is so unbelievably out of their control.

A second later, Sirius had to bow his head to hide his laughter. Remus laughed with him, wild and genuine, and just a little bit dangerous. Merlin, they were crazy, and Sirius thought they both knew it, but that laughter tasted a little bit like rebellion and it was enough to chase the darkness away, just for a few seconds.

“That last one’s no good,” Sirius said, keeping the laughter in his voice.

“They’re all shit, Sirius,” Remus said. He threw a bit of shingle at Sirius’s head. Sirius stuck his tongue out. “That’s why you’re helping me brainstorm.”

“If you say the cat’s had it in for you since the frying pan incident, that implies you tried to kill the cat with a frying pan. Which, kudos to you if you did. Cats are vile creatures.” He scrunched up his face a bit in disgust and it made Remus laugh more. “Anyway, killing a cat loses you major sympathy points, especially with girls. They tend to like cats. And, if you don’t have their pity, then they tend to ask more questions.”

“Is that why you never stop pestering me about my scars?”

Remus’s smile did not leave his face, but it no longer reached his eyes. There was a sadness, there, buried behind a mask of scars and laughter. It was loneliness and pain and an insurmountable burden and _Merlin_ , Sirius knew it well.

“Yep,” Sirius said, and it was true. “I don’t have time to pity you. I’m too busy planning out the many ways I will eviscerate the person who gave you those scars. And, if I am to eviscerate this person, I need to know who they are. Hence the pestering.”

“So you’ve skipped over sympathy entirely and gone directly to homicidal rage?”

“Exactly.”

Remus frowned. “You promised me you wouldn’t go after him.”

_I lied,_ he wanted to say. _I was under duress and I fucking lied, okay?_

Remus seemed to take Sirius’s silence for what it was: a confession and an oath of vengeance. Remus’s expression softened into something dangerously close to compassion. “I don’t need you to kill for me, Siri. Nor do I want you to. I’m not worth—”

“Yes, you are,” Sirius snapped—or, _Merlin_ , very nearly _snarled_.

“I’m not worth it, if you lose your soul over me.”

Sirius bowed his head. His voice came out hoarse and broken. “Not sure there’s much to lose, Re.”

Remus leaned forward, as close to Sirius as he could get without actually touching. His eyes were wide and so unfairly _kind_ that it took Sirius’s breath away. “All the more reason to fight to keep it. I don’t need an assassin or an avenger, Sirius, especially if this is what it costs. I kind of just need a friend.”

Merlin, he couldn’t fight back the tears, so he scrubbed them away as soon as they fell. No one had any right to care for Sirius the way Remus did. All this… it could only end in disaster.

That didn’t stop Sirius from saying: “You have one.”

Remus smiled.

Sirius sniffed and rubbed his nose. “You should tell them that you didn’t do McGonagall’s homework once, and she didn’t take it well, so she turned into a cat and attacked. They’ll know you’re lying, but they’ll get a laugh out of it. They’ll understand that a story like that means you’re not going to tell them what actually happened. Everybody wins.”

Remus laughed. “That’s genius.”

“I have my moments.”

From inside the dorm room, there was a _thud_ and a quick patter of feet. Remus and Sirius both turned to see James standing in the open window in his pyjamas. His hair was a wild bird’s nest and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. He rubbed his eyes and squinted at them, his face all scrunched up and sleep-weary.

“Remus? Sirius? What the bloody fuck are you doing out there? It’s freezing.”

“Stargazing,” Remus said.

“Scheming,” Sirius said, at the same time.

Remus rolled his eyes. “We’re solving all the world’s problems, in one fell swoop.”

James raised an eyebrow. It seemed to take a great deal of effort, given how his eyes were drooping. “That so?”

“Come join us, Jamie,” Sirius said, leaning over Remus to catch James’s eye. “And bring a blanket.”

“Bring two!” Remus called after him, as James ducked back into the room. James yanked the duvets off of both his and Remus’s bed and dragged them to the window, one in each hand.

James passed one blanket to Sirius as he climbed through the open window. Sirius wrapped the duvet around himself, much as he had earlier, just as James situated himself between Sirius and Remus. Sirius waved his hand once more, renewing and extending the warming charm to cover the three of them. James flung the second blanket across his and Remus’s laps, before laying his head on Remus’s shoulder.

Remus allowed it, shifting a little so he was more comfortable, before ducking his head away from James, away from the faint stream of light coming from the single candle by Remus’s bed inside the dorm room. Sirius understood: Remus didn’t want his scars to be seen, at least for tonight. Tonight, the pain and the secrets were poured into the fog around the castle, witnessed only by the waning moon, and would fade by morning. Come morning, there’d be a reckoning, but tonight they could pretend that the world made sense for just a little longer.

“Heard you got detention, Sirius,” James said, conversationally.

“Yes, but Remus has convinced me to forget about my problems tonight, so instead, I’ve been trying to make the stars that share a namesake with my least favourite relatives fall out of the sky with just the power of my mind.”

It was a blatant lie, of course, but Remus never even seemed to consider contradicting him.

James scoffed. “How’s that working out, oh great and powerful wizard?”

“Not great. Bellatrix is particularly stubborn,” Sirius said, with a smirk. He glared at the constellation, then raised his hands, wiggling his fingers, trying to pull the stars from the sky.

James laughed.

As the minutes ticked on in relative silence, the fog surrounding the castle began to lift. One by one, the towers and parapets, decorated with shadowy gargoyles and ancient shingles, emerged from the mist, until the entire castle was visible before them.

James sat up straight and leaned forward a bit. He squinted, then rubbed his eyes, clearly trying to make something out in the darkness. A moment later, he turned around and gazed up at the steep, slanting roof behind them. Then, he turned to Sirius, a wild grin plastered on his face.

“Ravenclaw tower is taller than ours,” James said.

“What?”

It was Sirius’s turn to squint. Then, like James, he turned to gaze up at the slanted Gryffindor roof behind them, trying to calculate and compare the height difference.

“It’s definitely taller,” Remus said, not bothering to compare the heights himself. “My dad told me. Historically, it’s a bit of a sore spot between Ravenclaws and Gryffindors.”

“As it should be!” James nearly shouted. “We’re the bravest and the most daring. Why on earth did they get the highest tower?”

“Because bravery and daring should never be determined by a measuring contest,” Remus deadpanned.

Sirius barked a laugh, but really, he had to side with James on this one. “It is a travesty,” he said.He twisted a little to look behind him again. “What if we stuck a broom up there? Make up the height difference?”

Remus shook his head. “Even if you somehow managed to fuse a broom to the top of Gryffindor tower, it wouldn’t technically change the height.”

James scrunched his face up in confusion. “Why the hell not?”

Sirius sighed and reconsidered. “No, Remus is right. The castle’s magic. More importantly, it’s slightly alive. It wouldn’t recognise a broom as part of itself.”

“You’d have to fuse something to the intrinsic magic of the castle itself,” Remus said.

“Well, what sort of thing would the castle allow as an addition?” James asked.

“A flag,” Remus said, with a shrug. “With a bit of spellwork. And possibly a miracle.”

“A _giant_ flag,” Sirius said, ignoring the rest.

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” James said, wiggling a little in excitement. “An enormous Gryffindor flag and we’ll be the tallest tower in the castle!”

“Except for the Astronomy tower,” Sirius muttered.

“We’ll be taller than the Ravenclaw tower!” James amended, not missing a beat.

Remus, once again, shook his head. “No good. The castle won’t favour one house over the other. If you use a Gryffindor flag, there’s a chance it won’t fuse with the castle’s magic.”

“Then we’ll make a Hogwarts flag,” Sirius said.

Remus shrugged. Sirius took it to mean, _Genius plan. Brilliant detection of a loophole._ Sirius preened, quite proud of himself.

Remus laughed at him, then asked, “How do we get a giant flag to the top of the tower?”

James didn’t hesitate. “I’ll nick a broom from Madam Hooch and fly it up.”

“Okay,” Remus said, drawing out the word. “Ignoring any potential flaws in _that_ plan for the moment, how do you plan on balancing a flag that large while flying on a broom?”

James’s look of triumph faltered a bit. “Why? How big does the flag have to be?”

“Big enough to make up the gap in height between the Ravenclaw tower and the Gryffindor tower, and then a bit more for bragging purposes,” Sirius said.

“A couple of meters, at least,” Remus said, squinting at the Ravenclaw tower, as if he’d be able to calculate the exact difference from their perch. “I’d have to research it.”

“Okay, Sirius will fly with me and help me carry the flag,” James said. “We’ll use a Permanent Sticking Charm and ward the flag itself against weather—”

“That won’t work,” Remus said. “Well, not long-term, anyway. The flag can’t just be _stuck_ there, it has to fuse with the castle’s magic. There’s got to be a way to do that. This castle’s over a thousand years old. There have definitely been renovations and additions. We’ve just got to figure out _how_ , which means—”

“More research,” Sirius finished, with a sigh. “And a miracle.”

James groaned. “We need more man-power on this, lads.”

James and Sirius exchanged a look. Then:

“PETER!” they yelled, together, at the top of their lungs. A second later, Remus joined in.

There was another crash from inside as Peter startled awake and tumbled to the window. His eyes were wild and unfocused, like he wasn’t quite free from the realm of unconsciousness.

James and Sirius nearly collapsed in laughter.

“I’m awake—what?” Peter managed. He rubbed his eyes, then squinted at the three of them on the roof. Again, Remus ducked his head to avoid the light from the dormitory to fall on his new, open scars.

“Merlin, I thought someone had fallen off the roof,” Peter gasped, clutching at his chest.

“Mmm, good plan, Pete,” James said. “Do you think we could get Snivellus up here?”

Remus swatted him. James hardly noticed.

“We’re planning on carving a place for ourselves in the newest edition of _Hogwarts: A History_ , Pete. You want in?” Sirius asked

Peter’s eyes lit up and he scrambled out the window. It took him a few tries, and, ultimately, Remus grabbed him by the collar of his pyjamas and hauled him out. Peter huffed and straightened himself out, then sat down on Remus’s other side, pushing himself as far away from the edge of the roof as possible.

“Right,” Peter said. “What do you want me to do?”

“You and me are on broom duty, Peter,” James said, squishing a little too close to Sirius in order to make room for Peter. Sirius was immediately grateful for the duvet wrapped around his shoulders. He didn’t think he could take any more pain tonight.

“Broom duty?” Peter asked, confused. “You want me to… sweep?”

Sirius barked a laugh. “No, you idiot.”

“You and me are gonna steal a few Quidditch brooms from Madam Hooch,” James explained, with a casual wave of his hand that was probably supposed to be some pantomime of flying on a broom.

“Oh,” Peter said, still obviously no less confused by this explanation than he’d been a second ago. “Why?”

“Why, he asks,” Sirius muttered, laughing to himself.

“Why?” James echoes, much louder. He nudges Sirius in the ribs and there’s so much blanket between them that Sirius thankfully doesn’t feel a thing. “Why, for honour and glory and a restoration of Gryffindor pride, of course!”

“And for victory in this ridiculous measuring contest,” Remus said, pretending to raise a glass.

James and Sirius echoed his movement and raised their own imaginary glasses. “Hear, hear!”

Peter glanced between the three of them and frowned. “I still don’t get it.”

James waved him off. “I’ll fill you in. But first, we need to work out how to break into the Quidditch supplies.”

“ _Without_ getting caught,” Remus added.

James pouted. “You’re no fun, Lupin,” he said, but his voice was light.

“We should plan on doing this before it gets too cold out and that won’t happen if all of you lot have detentions for the rest of the month,” Remus pointed out.

James reluctantly nodded his agreement.

“Good,” Remus continued. “Sirius, that means you and I are on research.”

Sirius beamed at him.

Merlin, he could see the plan unfolding in the near-golden gleam of Remus’s eye: the taste of glory, adventure, and that half-hidden, all-knowing smirk that Remus got whenever he allowed himself to believe that he was the smartest one in the room. It was that same look, that small quirk of his lips, that Remus had given Sirius that very first night: the one that said, _You’re Gryffindor, and fuck anyone who says different._ It was that wild triumph, that he’d seen lurking in the depths of Remus’s heart, when he’d outsmarted Malfoy in the Great Hall. It was pure, unadulterated _rebellion_ , that look in Remus’s eye, and it left no doubt in Sirius’s mind: Despite all the shit and the pain and monsters all around him, Remus Lupin would find a way to outmanoeuvre fate itself.

Sirius Black was in love.

Later, when the plan had been thoroughly explained to Peter a few times, the four boys climbed back through the window just as the waning moon dipped below the horizon. James and Peter immediately collapsed on their respective beds, neither of them bothering to pull the hangings. Remus took one look at Sirius and grabbed him by the blanket and hauled him towards his own bed. Sirius fell into a dreamless sleep, in the early hours of the morning, curled up in the safety of Remus Lupin’s bed, a pillow situated between them.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

_Merlin’s beard, Sirius,_

 

_Narcissa wrote me and told me what happened. (She’s in a fit, by the way. Best stay away from her.) She said Malfoy’s got one hell of a scar. She whinged about “Oh, poor Lucius” for about three pages. I stopped reading. Then, yesterday, I received a letter from my mother, stating that, “Given the precarious state of the marriage negations between the Lucius Malfoy and your sister, it is high time, Andromeda, for you to take a far more serious approach to your own future.”Et cetera, et cetera. Enormously long letter short, my mother is in a right state and has set me up with Julius Fawley, and, apparently, has given him the impression that I’ll be wooed and ready to marry by the summer. He’s nearly twice my age! Feathers is not to happy about it, but there’s not much either of us can do about it without risking Feathers’s life and limb. So I guess I’m courting Fawley now._

_(Any chance I can persuade you to maim him as well?)_

_(Sorry. That was a terrible joke.)_

_Merlin, this wasn’t supposed to be about me._

_How are you holding up, Sirius? These past few days can’t have been easy. Whatever happened with Malfoy—remarkably, Narcissa wasn’t quite forthcoming about the exact details—I’m guessing you had good reason. You’re not an idiot, Sirius, and I’m not going to lecture you. I just want you to be more careful. If someone bothered to tell me about this, then I’m just going to go ahead and assume the Warden’s already heard. I know I don’t need to tell you what that means._

_Merlin, I’d give just about anything for you to not have all this shit on your shoulders, Siri. I know it isn’t fair._

_Halloween is coming up. Do you want to meet at Hagrid’s again, before the feast? I’ll bring Feathers and you can bring your friends. We’ll make a whole go of it. Feathers can entertain your friends while you and I work out a strategy for Christmas. Do you think you could convince a professor to let you stay at Hogwarts?_

_Until I see you, stay close to your friends, and for the love of Salazar, Siri, please stay safe._

 

_I love you, always._

 

_Andromeda_

 

_P.S. I still haven’t had any luck reaching Regulus. I’m sorry, Sirius, but I think it’s safe to assume that the Warden is burning my letters, too._

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

_Andromeda,_

 

_Sorry you got dragged into all this. I didn’t mean for that to happen. Well, I definitely meant to do get back at Malfoy. He hurt Remus. That’s the end of the story, really. Malfoy hurt Remus and said he didn’t deserve to be at Hogwarts because he’s a half-blood, so I used one of the Warden’s curses on Malfoy. Now, Malfoy’s got a scar. Can’t say I’m particularly sorry about that._

_I’m okay, mostly. Terrified, if I’m being honest, but it’s okay when I’m with James and Remus and just going to classes and stuff. (And hexing the Slytherins, but shhhh! McGonagall hasn’t caught on just yet to the hilarious pranks we’ve pulled. It seems I accidentally started something of a war by cursing Malfoy, between us and the Slytherins. We’re going to win. Remus will make sure we’re not caught.) I’m lucky, I think. Terrified and fucked beyond belief, but I’m lucky to have James and Remus. And Peter too, but don’t tell him I said that. It’ll get to his head. I don’t know what I’d have done if that stupid Hat put me in Slytherin._

_I’m trying not to think about the Warden at all, really, but you’re right. Some kind of strategy is probably in order. I don’t know if it’s as simple as asking a professor to stay. Plus, with the exception of Professor Idunn because of my immeasurable talent in Ancient Runes, I’ve not gained the favour of too many professors. I’m pretty sure McGonagall is out for my head and she’s the head of Gryffindor. I’d have to go through her._

_Speaking of McGonagall, I don’t think I’ll be able to meet you. I’ve got detention for the Malfoy Incident for a whole month. She expects me to write this huge essay on curses and Dark Magic as well, so I’ll more than likely be stuck in the library. Sorry._

_Thanks for checking in with Reg. Honestly, I didn’t expect much. I’m more worried what the Warden’s been telling him about me. I think I’ll actually die if Reg hates me when I go back to Grimmauld Place._

 

_Thanks for your letter. It’s good hearing from someone who’s at least partially sane. Love you too._

 

_Sirius_

 

_P.S. I’ll be sure to hex Fawley into oblivion, if I ever see him. No one gets between you and Feathers._

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

**OCTOBER 12, 1971**

 

The next week flew by relatively quickly. As per his punishment with McGonagall, Malfoy avoided the first year Gryffindors like the plague, though Sirius still couldn’t shake Malfoy’s ever-watchful gaze. It made him fidget and twitch and, more often than not, Sirius had to suppress the urge to send hex after hex in Malfoy’s direction. It would only be reported back to his mother and, at this point, Sirius couldn’t afford to tack on more grievances for Walburga Black to carve out of his flesh.

Although Malfoy couldn’t interfere himself, Sirius was convinced that Malfoy had simply taken to sending the Carrows or Avery to do his bidding. There’d been more than a few scuffles, one of which left James with a broken nose and Remus with a hex that gave him large, vampire-like fangs. Remus, although back to normal within in an hour thanks to Madam Pomfrey, had spent the rest of the day with his mouth firmly clamped shut. He’d resolutely refused to speak to anyone, until that evening, when Sirius had handed him the last of Regulus’s chocolate out on the roof.

After that, Sirius could not, on a clean conscience, let the Slytherins’ transgressions go unpunished. With Sirius’s near-constant pestering, he’d convinced James to vanish Avery’s tongue completely, and, rather miraculously, really, Madam Pomfrey had said the only thing to do was regrow it from scratch, which meant that Avery had spent the better part of the past three days unable to talk and had been taking all of his meals in the form of grey mush.

The Carrows had been a bit trickier, given their proclivity of hanging around one Severus Snape, who, much to Sirius’s chagrin, had not done anything recently that would further jeopardise his still-rather-precarious relationship with Lily Evans.

He’d had to be a bit more creative, so yesterday, after yet another disastrous Care of Magical Creatures lesson—it’d been doxies this time, and immediately upon catching sight of Remus, they’d swarmed him and started pulling at his hair until Professor Cuckoo had charmed them to sleep—Sirius had followed a sulking Remus to the library. After a bit of research and more than a bit of nagging Remus to get him to help, Sirius and Remus had made their way down to the dungeons. They’d hidden behind a statue for what had seemed like well over an hour—they’d argued about _Frankenstein_ again, because Remus could not get behind the idea that the monster was not, in fact, a _true_ monster, nor that he was capable of love—before the Carrow twins finally emerged from behind a tapestry.

Sirius had conjured his magic, let it twirl between his fingers just for show, before he’d shot Remus a smirk, stepped out in the open, and muttered, “ _Sanguinem Ligare_!”

Alecto and Amycus Carrow had both levitated, then were suddenly thrown together as if drawn to each other by magnets. They’d stood there, shoulder to shoulder, cursing and completely unable to separate themselves from each other. Remus had sighed, though Sirius hadn’t missed that wonderfully dangerous gleam in his eye, and had cast an extension charm, so that the blood-binding hex wouldn’t wear off in just an hour, as _A Hundred and Forty Seven Ways to Mildly Inconvenience Your Mortal Enemy_ had said it would.

That morning at breakfast, the Carrows had still literally been glued together at the hip. According to the whispers coming from the Slytherin table that James had conveniently amplified for their entertainment, the Carrows had been forced go to Quidditch practice the day before, and they’d had a slight tumble off their broom, seeing as neither of them could fly particularly well whilst carrying the “useless deadweight of the other sibling”. The Carrows had also, apparently, refused to shower after their Quidditch practice, given their inability to separate themselves. As Marlene and Dorcas had reported after passing the temporarily conjoined twins in the halls, the Carrows reeked of mud and sweat and something that, according to Remus, was almost certainly urine.

All in all, Sirius Black felt rather vindicated.

After Defense Against the Dark Arts on Tuesday, Sirius waved a quick goodbye to James and Peter—they were off to stake out the Quidditch Pitch for the fifth time that week, in what James had repeatedly called, “strategic reconnoissance”—Sirius accompanied Lily Evans to the library. They walked side by side, in silence, then just stared at each other, from across the table, when they’d finally found a relatively private table towards the back and well out of Madam Pince’s general vicinity.

Without breaking eye contact, Lily reached into her bag and produced a large, leather-bound novel. She tossed it on the table between them and, for whatever reason, Sirius hadn’t been expecting her to do so. He jumped at the noise, then flushed a little in embarrassment. Lily smirked.

Forcing his heart rate to return to normal, Sirius let out a long breath and reached for the book, not bothering to look at the title, as he pilfered through the pages. There were no spells or references to magical tattoos or curse breaking whatsoever, as he’d been expecting. Sirius frowned and narrowed his eyes at Lily.

“What’s this, then?”

“ _Les Miserables,”_ Lily said, crossing her arms across her chest. “It’s that novel I told you about. The one with revolution and romance.”

“The French one?”

“Yup.”

Sirius looked between the open book and Lily Evans, confused. “This is in English.”

“It’s a translation.”

“How will I get the full scope of a French story if I don’t read it in French?”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “You speak French?”

“‘Course I do. English, French, bits of Latin, and a whole string of German curse words, curtesy of the best magical tutors that money can buy.”

“Christ, you’re so posh,” she muttered, but the corners of her lips tugged up in a smile. “All those tutors and you never once touched Muggle literature until you read _Frankenstein_?”

“Nope. Muggle literature is far beneath us pure-bloods,” Sirius said, as he thumbed to the beginning of the book and started reading.

For a solid ten minutes, Lily allowed Sirius to get lost in the dismal world of nineteenth century France. The tale began with a bishop, a weary traveller, and a cruel, unforgiving world.

Lily reached into her bag and produced another book, this one nearly twice the size, and slams it on the table. He didn’t jump this time. He’d been waiting for it, in fact.

Sirius glanced up at the book between them. There was a loud _hiss_ and Sirius felt his guts twist into knots. He knew what that book was.

It was leather-bound, old and molding around the edges. The pages had long since gone yellow and they were wavy from age and water damage. Etched into the cover, there was a skull, with a dagger through it, and smoke billowing from its open mouth. A serpent twisted around the hilt of the dagger, its long tail twisting as if it really were still alive. It bared its fangs and hissed in the direction of Lily, writhing against the dagger and snapping its jaw at her, trying to bite and tear into flesh.

Sirius would recognise the book anywhere. This one certainly showed more wear and tear, but it was utterly unmistakeable. His mother had a copy prominently displayed in the library at Grimmauld Place. It’d been in the Black family since it had been published, long ago, when magic was at its darkest. To his knowledge, no one knew who’d written it, but given his mother’s pride in the book and the fact that there were only twelve known copies left in existence after the mass burning of books about Dark Magic in 1689, he’d place good money that the author had been an ancestor of his and, therefore, the book was kept safe and pristine in the Black library.

The title was red, long ago written in the author’s blood, though it was still bright and oozing as if the wound had only recently been open: _Most Vile Tome of Blood Magicks._

“Where, in the name of Salazar, did you get that book?” Sirius whispered, his voice thick and his heart in his throat. _Les Miserables_ closed in on itself on his lap as he leaned forward, his place lost, but Sirius couldn’t bring himself to care.

Lily watched his expression closely. “The Restricted Section. Where else?”

“Who—” His voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat. “Who the hell gave a first year permission to check _this_ out?!”

“Professor Rattleburn, technically.”

“Technically?”

“Well, I actually checked out a book on hexes and their counters for the essay she assigned, but while I was in the Restricted Section, I thought I might as well research blood curses. This one looked promising, so I grabbed it and stuffed it in my bag. That snake kept hissing at me, so I pretended to have a cough the whole way out of the library.”

Sirius blinked at her. “That was… You’d make a damn fine Slytherin, Evans.”

“Don’t insult me,” she huffed, but she still looked a little proud. “Now. What do you know about this book?”

“I know that you, especially, should not let that snake bite you,” he said, drawing out his words a bit and dancing around the real question.

“Why? What would happen?”

“I don’t know, exactly, but if I had to guess, it’s hissing at you because you’re Muggle-born. See, watch.” He reached for the book and ran his fingers across the cover. The snake shut its mouth and preened, leaning into Sirius’s touch. Sirius drew his hand back and glowered at the book. “I just know that it was charmed by Dark wizards who hate Muggles as a general rule. It’s probably something nasty.”

“Noted.” Lily gestured at the book. “I take it you’ve read this before.”

Sirius nodded. “At least three times, all the way through. There’s no cure in there. I can assure you, I’ve looked.”

Lily ignored him entirely and carefully opened the enormous book. The snake hissed and lunged at her, but she let the cover fall flat on the table and it fell silent once more. She thumbed through the pages, landing about halfway through the volume.

“There’s a whole section on magical tattoos, all of them with their own rituals,” she said. “There are detailed rituals in here, including the one I believe was used on you. The _Sanguinem Purificatus._ The blood of four family members, usually the eldest living, is spilled in a ritual circle. The initiate—that’d be you—sits in the middle of the circle and is covered in the blood. Then, his own hand is cut and mixed with his family’s blood and ink made from the ashes of the ceremonial fire. While the others in the circle, the matriarch of the family uses her wand to carve the mark on the initiate and—”

Sirius’s vision swirled, lost for a moment in Lily’s words, before shook his head. “I’m quite familiar with the rest, thanks, Evans.”

“Right. Sorry,” she said, slowly. She shifted in her chair and leaned forward, over the book. “What exactly is your mark?”

“My— What?”

“You weren’t very specific the other night. The book talks about a whole bunch of different types of Dark Marks and tattoos. Some families just use their family seal, but other runes or symbols can be imbued with more magic. Some marks can be used to summon an initiate, some cause pain, and there was one that—fucking hell—would turn the initiate to ash if they so much as thought of betraying their family.”

Thank Merlin his mother hadn’t used that one. Sirius would’ve been ash the second he’d been sorted into Gryffindor.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to think of how much worse it could be, should his mother decide to implement any one of the spells in that book.

“My mark,” he said, his voice low, “is my family’s words, above my heart. It… _hurts_ whenever someone of a lesser bloodline touches me, even if it’s a pure-blooded blood traitor. It’s meant to discourage association with anyone with impure blood. No way for an heir to produce a half-blood bastard if he can’t bloody touch a Muggle-born, eh? The mark prevents…contamination.”

Lily pulled a face. Sirius couldn’t really blame her.

“The pain isn’t just the mark,” he went on. “It… Well, to be quite honest, when I touch you or Remus or James or anyone else, it feels like someone decided to set my bones on fire and then stab me about a hundred thousand times.”

“Right.” Lily sat up straighter in her chair, inching backwards. There was a table separating them, but she had this look in her eye that said she was afraid to even get near him. Sirius didn’t know whether to feel grateful or insulted. “What _exactly_ is the mark?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might.”

Merlin, what’s one more horrible family secret he’d give away? Sirius let out a breath. “ _Toujours Pur_. Always Pure.”

“Oh.” Lily was quiet for a moment, her face frustratingly blank. Then: “That’s rather on the nose, don’t you think?”

That was so far from any one of the possible reactions he’d been expecting that Sirius couldn’t hold back a laugh. It’s a little delirious and more than a bit self-deprecating, but it felt good to just have a laugh at the insanity of it all.

“Right,” Lily said, reaching into her bag and pulling out another book.

This one, too, Sirius recognised from the Black library. _Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy._ He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, tipping his chair to balance on two legs as he did so, waiting for Lily to explain.

“Now, it’s my understanding that all you pure-bloods keep tabs on each other. Since we’ve established the ritual used for your mark and we know its effects, I thought you could tell me what other families have similar tattoos and rituals, so we can search through the histories to see if there’s any reference to a cure.”

“There’s no cure, Evans.”

Merlin, he’d lost count of how many times he’d said that to her. It was true, technically speaking. A mark like that one was too powerful to come with any sort of counter-spell or loophole. The words on his chest could not be burned away, carved off, or covered up by anything. If the skin was damaged, the scar would heal, and the words would appear again on top of it, completely and irreversibly intact.

But Lily’s hunch wasn’t entirely unfounded. There had to be… _something_. Andromeda, after all, had found a way to hold hands with Ted Tonks without any residual pain.

Sirius had been giving that a great deal of thought lately. He hand’t exactly worked up the courage to actually _ask_ Andromeda about it. He was terrified of the answer. Andromeda was cunning—she was Slytherin, after all—and was something of a force of nature when she sets her mind on something.

The thing was, Sirius already had a hunch as to how she’d done it. A mark like _that_ , imbued with _that_ kind of magic, could only be outmatched by an equally powerful ritual. He wasn’t sure what kind of ritual, exactly, but he was certain that it involved a good deal of blood magic, pain, and probably came with its own set of stipulations, addendums, and dire, world-ending consequences.

On the one hand, Sirius figured it meant that Muggle-born, Hufflepuff, apothecary-owner Ted Tonks had one hell of a backbone, if he had been willing to perform this unspecified ritual just so he could hold Andromeda’s hand. It meant that he loved her, unequivocally, and that he was so fiercely loved by Andromeda in return.

That kind of love… it was dangerous. Powerful, imbued with its own innate magic, and so tragically beautiful, sure, but it was also wild, and laced with every symptom of insanity. That kind of love consumes you, and mother of Merlin, Sirius knew it well.

“Humour me,” Lily said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Fine,” Sirius groused. “For the past century or so, most families that traditionally practiced this particular blood ritual have resigned themselves to only branding the eldest male heir. It’s still expected that everyone else in the family still marry into pure-blood, but for these families, only the male heir bears the brand of his house. ”

“That’d be you, then.”

“Yes, but like I told you, _everyone_ in my family has the mark.”

“Why’d the other families change, then?”

“Convenience?” Sirius tried. “Suddenly, there were all these Muggle-borns and half-bloods running around. The old families were dying out. All that mattered was keeping the line pure, through the male heir. Everyone else, it didn’t matter so much, as long as the name continued.”

“But the Blacks didn’t agree?”

“The Blacks tend to believe that even the slightest hint of impurity should be met with excruciating pain,” he said, unable to hide a grimace. “The Shafiqs believe the same, as do the Lestranges.” Sirius pulled _Nature’s Nobility_ towards him and flipped it open. “The Averys, Yaxleys, Notts, Gaunts, and Princes only brand the male heir, but the last of the Gaunts is locked in Azkaban and the Princes have all died out.”

Lily, who had been frantically scribbling down the names as he talked, paused, looked up at him, and frowned. “No, they haven’t.”

“What?”

“Severus’s mother is a Prince. They haven’t all died out.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow and filed that bit of information away for later.

Lily grabbed the book back from him, spun it around and flipped to the _P_ ’s.

“Snape won’t be in there, Evans.”

“Why the hell not?” she snapped, without looking up. “It’s called _A Wizarding Genealogy,_ not _The Pure-Blood Genealogy_.”

“To most pure-bloods, it’s the same thing,” Sirius said, with a shrug. “Besides, if Snape’s a half-blood, it means his mum married a Muggle, and, if she did that, she was probably disowned. I highly doubt she’s even in there.”

Lily finally landed on the right page. Her eyebrows pinched together as her frown deepened. “You’re right. The Prince line ends with Everett Prince, born 1901. But how is that possible. Surely there’s a record that she was _born?_ ”

“There probably is somewhere, but not in that book,” Sirius replied. “The book’s magic, Evans. It updates for every birth, every death, and every poor sod that goes and gets themselves disowned.”

“Alright, then,” Lily said, closing the book once more and taking up her quill. “What are the names of the individual patriarchs that have their own marks?”

Sirius paused, wracking his brain. “Mortimer Yaxley, Milton Avery, Pulsifer Nott, and Morfin Gaunt, I think. I always get the two Avery brothers mixed up. They’re both hideous and they’re both fanatics. Not the type you’d like to run into.”

Lily nodded and made a note to look up the Averys. “Does every family perform the ritual when the initiate is eight years old?”

“Ideally,” Sirius replied. “Eight is a powerful year, historically speaking. It’s usually when accidental magic starts manifesting. It’s understood to be when a pure-blood child comes into their inheritance, but the ritual doesn’t always happen on the eighth birthday. If a male heir dies, his younger brother or cousin would be forced into the ritual, even if they were well into adulthood. The line must continue.”

“Right. I’ll see what I can find out about possible variations in the ritual and—”

Lily cut off, her eyes wide and fixed on something over Sirius’s shoulder. He didn’t have time to turn or properly react before Remus sat down next to him, armed with his own stack of ancient looking books.

“Mind if I sit?” Remus said, even though it was a bit redundant at this point.

Lily still hadn’t wiped that halfway-guilty look off her face, so Sirius answered for her. “Not at all. What are you reading?”

“Theories on wand magic,” Remus said, not looking away from Lily Evans.

Sirius was so caught up in the bizarre tension between Lily and Remus, that he almost didn’t register what Remus said. It hit him like a ton of bricks and he very nearly choked on the air. “W-wand magic?”

That couldn’t be right, could it? He’d misheard, or something, because why, in the name of Merlin, would Remus be researching wand magic? Unless—

No. Remus had to be lying, because Lily Evans was sitting right there. It was probably something for the Ravenclaw prank, hence the secrecy.

“Yes,” Remus said, easily, and Merlin, it didn’t _sound_ like he was lying. Then again, Remus was quite good at lying, wasn’t he? He’d told a thousand lies about his scars, even as recently as last week, when he’d taken Sirius’s advice and told James and Peter that the brand new marks on his face were retaliation for stepping on McGonagall’s tail one night. McGonagall, at least as far as James and Peter were concerned, had quite a temper when she was a cat.

Remus raised an eyebrow at Lily, as if daring her to answer. “What about you two?”

Lily opened and closed her mouth, then seemed to decide it was best for it to remain closed for the moment. She threw a panicked look at Sirius.

He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “Evans was helping me research curses and Dark Magic for McGonagall’s essay.”

It wasn’t necessarily _untrue_ , but it wasn’t the full truth either, and he was about eighty percent sure that Remus didn’t quite believe him. Lily wasn’t exactly helping, what with that wide-eyed panic written all across her face, but Sirius couldn’t exactly blame her. She was keeping his secret, after all, and had been caught a bit off guard. It takes practice, to lie as easily as he and Remus did.

Lily, snapping out of her daze, snatched both her books from the table and stuffed them in her bag. She stood up fast, her chair scraping against the floor and nearly tipping over as she did so. “Right. Sirius, I’ll…” She hesitated and shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll get back to you about that… curse you asked about.”

Then, mumbling a quick goodbye, Lily slung her bag over her shoulder and left, mumbling to herself as she went.

Remus turned in his chair to face Sirius. “Please tell me you’re not planning to curse the Slytherins again. You’re in enough trouble, Sirius. There’s a real possibility that McGonagall will _actually_ claw your face off if she catches you again.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “No, of course not. You think I convinced Evans to help me curse Slytherins? She’s best friends with Snivellus.”

“She’s quite good friends with you as well, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“That’s because I’m amazing.” Remus snorted and kicked the leg of Sirius’s chair for good measure. Sirius smirked and continued, “Besides, if I want to curse the living daylights out of the Slytherins, I’ve got you and James and Pete to help. And I seem to remember that we have a prior commitment, as far as elaborate schemes go, so let’s get to it, shall we?”

He reached for one of Remus’s books and pulled it close, then felt his heart leap into his throat when he caught sight of the cover. _The Art of Wand-Making Around the World_. Sirius grabbed the other three books in Remus’s stack. _The Heart and the Matter: Varying Theories on Wand Cores_ , _The Wizard and His Wand_ , and, strangely enough, a beaten copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.

Well, shit.

Sirius grabbed at the pile, snatching _The Wizard and His Wand_ away from Remus before he could raise a protest.

Raising a finger and turning a little bit red, Remus said, “That one actually has very little to do with wand making, but it was in the Restricted Section, so I took it. I got about half-way through before I realized _why_ it was in the Restricted Section. Honestly, I can’t believe Madam Pince let me check that out.”

Curiosity won out over the mild swell of panic twisting up his insides. Sirius raised an eyebrow and went to open _The Wizard and His Wand_ , but Remus immediately slapped a hand on the cover.

“Don’t,” Remus said, with a small laugh. “It’s, ah. It’s illustrated.”

Sirius pushed the book away, then schooled his expression. “You’re…” he started, choking a bit on his words. “You’re _actually_ researching wands?”

Remus looked genuinely confused. “Yes? I already told you that.”

“Yeah, well, I thought you were researching how to get Hogwarts to recognise a flag as a part of itself and that you lied because Evans was here.”

Remus shrugged. “I have been researching that, just not today. Today, I’m researching wands. But, now that you mention it, I do have—”

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why are you researching wand magic?”

Remus paused, a small frown tugging at a few of the most recent scars on his face. “You never wrote Ollivander. About your wand.”

It wasn’t exactly an accusation, just a… statement of a fact.

“I—” Sirius started, then clamped his mouth shut. There was a perfectly good reason he’d never written Ollivander. Writing Ollivander meant confessing that Sirius had killed his own wand. It meant admitting to an Unforgivable.

“I mean,” Remus continued, looking a little nervous, “you said the core of your wand didn’t fit the Whomping Willow’s wood. Outside of McGonagall’s class, I’ve seen you use your wand just the once, with Malfoy, and, yes, you’re quite a prodigy at wandless magic—” Remus paused, graciously allowing Sirius an opportunity to look quite smug with himself. “—but you can’t get by on wandless magic forever, Siri. You need a wand. I thought I’d help.”

“I, um…” Merlin, Sirius had no idea what to say to that, so, after a moment of hopeless floundering, he settled with a sincere, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” A raw, genuine smile spread slowly across Remus’s face. He gestured to his pile of books and, mother of Merlin _,_ Remus had that _look_ in his eye again: the one that said, _Fuck the world_ _because I’ve cracked the secrets of the universe_ a bit too loudly for polite company. “The trick is matching the enchanted willow wood to a magical core. The core has to, in a way, compliment the Whomping Willow specifically, which is difficult because—”

“It’s guarding a secret,” Sirius finished.

Remus gave a slight nod. “For whatever reason, the magic of the Willow is somehow entwined with this… secret.”

“So we need to find out what the secret is?”

“Not… necessarily.” Remus let out a nervous cough and looked away. “You need a magical core that’s worthy of the magic and ferocity of the Whomping Willow, as well as one fitting to you.”

“You’re saying a bloody unicorn wasn’t worthy?” Sirius deadpanned.

“A unicorn is too… pure,” Remus said, grimacing.

“Pure?” Sirius felt a sudden, horrible weight in the pit of his stomach. Of course, that was the problem. He’d killed the unicorn hair core with Dark Magic, hadn’t he? A creature that innocent and perfect would never be—

“I’m not— Merlin, Siri,” Remus muttered. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. All I meant was that a thing that pure doesn’t necessarily compliment the nature of the Whomping Willow, or you, by extension, since this wand chose _you_. I meant… Look, you told me Ollivander said the Willow loved this… _secret_ it’s protecting, unreservedly. Right?”

Sirius nodded, not quite sure where Remus was going with this. “Right.”

“Right,” Remus repeated. He sat up a bit straighter, fidgeting wildly as he talked. “Sirius, love like _that_ —all entwined up in magic and purpose and destiny—it’s never pure, or innocent. Not in the same sense that a unicorn is pure. Purity to a unicorn means it’s unsullied. Untouched, even. The Willow… that kind of love burns with all the fury of the heavens. A unicorn can never love like that. _This_ kind of love is instinctual and raw and it’s—”

_It’s the kind of love that fires Unforgivable and healing spells, one right after the other._

_“_ Oh.”

Sirius and Remus stared at each other for a long moment, before Remus finally broke the tension with a small smile and nudged the leg of Sirius’s chair with his foot.

Sirius laughed a little and cleared his throat of the unexpected emotion that welled up. “So. You’re going to fix my wand.”

“No,” Remus said, with a patient sigh. “This is complicated magic. I have neither the skill nor the desire to become a wand-maker. You need a functioning wand, so I’m coming up with a possible solution. Ollivander will fix it, if and when I find a compatible core.”

“Alright, then.” Sirius reached for _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. He flipped to the middle of the book. “So we’re looking for a magical creature that compliments both the magic of the Willow and, well, _me_. Have you narrowed down the list of candidates? This is quite a long book.”

Remus gave a noncommittal shrug. “I have a working theory.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Please tell me it’s not Hickory Dave.”

Remus laughed. “No. Definitely not Hickory Dave.”

“How exactly do you plan on getting this mysterious magical creature to give you a…” Sirius trailed off, not entirely certain of what parts of magical creatures could be used for wand cores.

“A tooth,” Remus finished for him.

“A _tooth?!”_

“Yep.”

Sirius gaped at him, waiting for Remus to elaborate, but clearly, Remus had no plans on doing so. Sirius narrowed his eyes. “That sounds… vaguely ominous. How exactly do you plan on getting a bloody _tooth_ from this creature?”

“I have a theory on that too,” Remus answered, as if that were the end of it.

“Care to share with the class?”

“No.” Remus smirked at him, smug and very clearly triumphant. “I don’t think I will.”

 

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**OCTOBER 16, 1971**

 

“I’ve had a thought,” Remus said.

“Ooh, sounds dangerous. Tell me.”

It was a cool, early afternoon on a Saturday, and Remus and Sirius were in the greenhouse. Their mission was twofold: steal a few of the large sheets of canvas Professor Woodward had been using to cover the Peruvian Snarl-Dragons and collect a fair amount of Speckle Grass to be used as paint.

Remus, being the taller of the two of them, had been nominated, unanimously, by Sirius to handle the canvas removal. The Peruvian Snarl-Dragons weren’t even up to Remus’s knees—they wouldn’t be fully grown, man-eating nightmares until the spring, or so Professor Woodward assured them—but they still had a nasty bite. The venom of a Peruvian Snap-Dragon left its victim dazed and confused, and, as they’d found out the week before, highly susceptible to suggestion. Peter had taken a good nip in the backside in class, when he’d been laughing at one of Sirius’s jokes, and, well. The whole thing culminated in Peter doing an Irish dance on the Gryffindor table during dinner. It was all good fun, until McGonagall had made Peter and Sirius—who she’d immediately decided was behind the whole stunt, despite his vehement protests—clean up the whole mess of scattered food and pumpkin juice without magic.

Remus, for his part, had thus far expertly avoided any contact with the Snap-Dragon fangs and had almost finished gathering the canvases by the time Sirius stood. Remus snorted a laugh, when he caught sight of Sirius. Sirius let out a pitiful groan. He was well aware that he was covered head to toe in Speckle Grass dust. The grass itself was rather ordinary looking, save for the fact that it was white and incredibly soft to the touch. It was, however, covered in a fine dust that could turn any possible colour with just the slightest touch of magic. With a little finesse, a wizard could determine the colour of the dust, and it made for very fine paint, but, of course, Remus had failed to mention the finesse bit, and Sirius had simply gone in and grabbed a handful of Speckle Grass. The dust… well, Sirius’s hair was a purple-ish shade. There were red and blue streaks across his face and hands, and his robes were dotted with patches of silver, and yellow, and a horrible shade of lime green right over his crotch.

Remus snickered again when Sirius waved his hand and tried to remove the dust in one fell swoop. Despite the magic twirling between his fingers, all it did was brighten the shades of colour. 

“Here,” Remus said, setting down the canvas and walking up to Sirius. He drew his wand and tapped it to Sirius’s pouting face. “ _Scourgify_.”

The dust cleared and Sirius muttered his thanks. Then, turning back to his pile of Speckle Grass, he flicked his wrist and the grass floated into a whicker basket they’d nicked from Woodward’s office. “So,” Sirius said, brushing out his robes again for good measure. “You had a thought?”

“Actually, I’ve had several.” Remus yanked the last canvas free of the Snarl-Dragons. “Relatively speaking, this operation is fairly simple. The books on Hogwarts’s magic are in the library, the spells—although there are a lot of them—aren’t particularly complicated, and the execution won’t be too difficult, if all that’s required are a giant flag and a couple of brooms.”

Sirius shrugged, internally disagreeing with one point. The spell were _very_ complicated. They were extending both the sentience and inherent magic of the castle to include a flag they planned to make themselves. The spell required to make a legitimate extension to the castle required the extension to have _life_ within itself before it was integrated into Hogwarts itself. This had stumped Remus and Sirius for a good two days, before, last night, Sirius had woken up Remus around two in the morning with an ingenious solution. The castle requires life, so why not give it? Blood magic, plain and simple, and founded in such wonderful benevolence, Sirius had kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner.

After that particular epiphany, it seemed like the easiest thing in the world: Once Sirius gathered all the Speckle Grass dust for the paint, the four Gryffindor boys would add a few drops of their blood, thus imbuing the paint with their life-force, which, according to the ancient, Latin spell-book, would give the flag enough magic to endure as long as Hogwarts itself. It was the purest kind of blood ritual—so far afield from the one used by the Blacks—and the enormity of it all took Sirius’s breath away if he allowed himself to dwell on it.

This was _good_.

This was _Gryffindor_.

This would be their _legacy_.

“What’s your point?” Sirius said, tearing himself from his own thoughts.

“What’s to stop the Ravenclaws from retaliating? All they’d need is a few spells and a flag. Their flag wouldn’t even have to be all that big, either, since they’re not making up the distance.”

“They’re Ravenclaws,” Sirius huffed. “They don’t _retaliate_.”

“They do if it’s a matter of proving who’s more intelligent.”

“Ugh, fair enough. What do we do?”

“We have to make sure they’ll never be able to get to the top of Ravenclaw tower.”

“And you know how to do that?”

Remus shrugged, then flicked his wand to fold up the giant pieces of canvas. “More or less. We hex the shit out of their roof. Nothing nasty, of course, but enough layered hexes to deter even the most persistent Ravenclaws.”

“That… would be a lot of hexes.”

“Yes it would,” Remus said, dismissively, before continuing on with his rant. “So, while you and James fly the flag up on our tower, Pete and I will break into Ravenclaw tower and—”

Sirius stopped fiddling with his robes and looked up sharply. “Wait, hold on. You’re breaking into Ravenclaw tower?”

Remus paused, blinking at Sirius. “Yes. I thought it best that we lock all their windows on our way out, so at least they can’t get up on the roof that way. They’d have to fly up on a broom, and then, well… Hexes.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“What?” Remus’s face scrunched up in confusion. “You’re flying with James, Sirius. You’re the one who knows the final incantations.”

“Pete can fly with James and I’ll show James the incantations. We can do most of them before they fly the flag up there anyway,” Sirius insisted. “I want to break into Ravenclaw tower.”

“Why?”

“I’m quite good at hexes, I’ll have you know. Plus, you’ve seen my locking charm, remember? No one but you has ever been able to break it.”

Remus raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, waiting for Sirius to fork over the whole truth.

Sirius groaned. “Alright, fine. James promised me a consolation snog.”

Remus opened and closed his mouth. “You—You want to snog James Potter?”

Sirius gave a noncommittal wave of his hand. “Not particularly. It’s more about the prestige and proving I _can_ break into Ravenclaw.”

“If this is a consolation snog…”

Sirius nodded and finished the thought. “James has to snog me and profess his undying love to me in the Great Hall if I ever manage to break into Slytherin.”

Remus snorted a laugh. “In that case, let’s get you that consolation snog.” He gathered the folded canvases into his arms, then flicked his wand at the basket of Speckle Grass to levitate it. “But first, we need a flag. Let’s go. James said he’d call in reinforcements.”

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

Sirius and Remus made their way up to the Astronomy Tower, occasionally ducking inside alcoves and behind statues to avoid passerbys. Neither of them particularly cared to explain to a professor or fellow student _why_ they were carrying a pile of stolen canvases between them and being followed by a levitating basket that was currently leaking purple dust.

James and Peter were waiting with a large cauldron, in the centre of the Astronomy Tower. It was still light out, but the evening twilight was quickly fading into darkness. To the southeast, Sirius could just make out his star, the heart of Canis Major, rising above the Scottish moors.

“Are you sure we couldn’t have gone to dinner first?” Peter said to James, just as Remus and Sirius walked in.

James gave a half-hearted shrug, as if he’d been thinking the same thing.

“We have to do the blood ritual and paint the flag in one go, preferably before curfew, otherwise the spell might not work properly,” Remus said, as he and Sirius set down the canvases next to the cauldron. Remus stood up straight and fished around in the pockets of his robes. “Here. I brought provisions.”

He tossed a Chocolate Frog first to Peter, then to James, taking a third one out for himself. Then, digging in his robes a little more, he produced a sugar quill. Remus handed it to Sirius with an apologetic smile, and muttered, “Sorry I don’t have anything more filling.”

Sirius, on the other hand, didn’t care in the slightest. He hadn’t been too concerned about missing dinner in the first place. It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d missed a meal. He broke off the tip of the sugar quill and popped it in his mouth, flashing Remus a winning smile.

“Ugh, _another_ Helga Hufflepuff?” Peter moaned around a mouthful of chocolate, staring in dismay at his card.

James looked at his own card and pulled a face. “I’ll trade you for it later, Pete. Sirius, care to do the honours?”

James tossed his card to the floor, face-up, in the middle of the four of them. Sirius would recognise that general scowl of disapproval anywhere. It lived on in both his mother and his father and haunted Sirius’s nightmares.

Phineas Nigellus Black.

“With pleasure,” he said. Sirius flicked his wrist and the card caught on fire, disintegrating in seconds, but not before a look of abject horror crossed over his great-great grandfather’s face.

Peter pouted a little. “That one was _rare_.”

“Yeah, well,” Sirius said, dismissively, “come over to mine and you can listen to him bitch and moan all day long. Filthy Muggles, _this_ , and ungrateful Mudbloods, _that_. It all gets rather repetitive, really. No original content whatsoever. It’s a wonder anyone listened to him at all. Now, my mother… she’s _creative_ with her insults, you see, but that’s a circle of hell in and of itself.”

Peter gulped and wisely shut his mouth.

Sirius smirked and bit off another piece of sugar quill, leaning back on his heels, pretending to be triumphant for proving his point. Except, that uncomfortable swirl of dread and terror that settled in his stomach didn’t feel particularly triumphant.

Remus cleared the dust away with a swirl of his wand. “Let’s get this started, shall we?”

Another flick of Remus’s wand had the basket of Speckle Grass unceremoniously dumping its contents into the cauldron.

Now came the blood.

“Best I go first,” Sirius muttered under his breath, only loud enough so that Remus could hear. Sirius had no intention whatsoever of risking contact with James or Remus’s blood. If touching them hurt as much as it did, he didn’t even want to imagine what their blood would do to him.

Sirius produced a small, silver knife from the pockets of his robes. He dragged the knife across his palm and bit his lip against the pain. He held the open wound over the cauldron and counted until thirteen drops of blood fell in. The ritual called for thirteen. Then, muttering a quick _scourgify_ for the knife and an _episkey_ for his hand, Sirius held out the hilt of the knife to Remus.

Remus stared at the gleaming silver hilt for a solid minute, a frown on his face, and—

Merlin, Remus was terrified. “Is that… silver?”

“Yes,” Sirius said, hesitantly. “Nicked it from my mum before I left for school. It’s probably a family heirloom of some degree, but I just thought it looked… neat.”

Remus swallowed loudly and cleared his throat. “Can you, um—” He looked desperately between Sirius and the knife. “Can you do it for me?”

A cold dose of realisation washed over Sirius. “You’re—”

“Squeamish, yes,” Remus finished.

But, no, that wasn’t it at all. Sirius thought of Remus, propped up against the wall in the second floor bathroom, absolutely covered in blood. Remus wasn’t afraid of _blood_ , per se. He was afraid of the _knife_.

Sirius pulled the knife back. “If you want, we can use magic. All we need is blood—”

“‘ _Blood drawn by man’s own blade_ ,’” Remus quoted. “If we use magic, it won’t work.”

“Then you don’t have to—”

“It works better with four, Siri,” Remus said. “It’s a powerful magical number, like the four points on the compass. The spell-book said so. Just do it.”

Sirius took a second to calculate the best way to do this without actually touching Remus. If he held Remus’s hand while he made the cut, there was a chance Sirius would react to the pain and flinch. He’d hurt Remus, if he didn’t make a clean, precise cut. Glancing over at James, who’s face was pinched up in sympathy, Sirius said, “Maybe James should—”

Remus shook his head, and it broke his heart, but Sirius understood that too. James might be a good friend and a stand-up guy, but Remus _trusted_ Sirius with this. This, and the burden of his fear.

“Alright,” Sirius said, flipping the knife back over. “Hold your wrist for me, yeah? Keep it steady.”

Remus understood and did as he was asked, holding his left wrist with his right hand over the cauldron. Sirius stepped forward and, very carefully, dragged the blade across Remus’s upturned left palm.

A whimper escaped Remus, before he had a chance to bite his lips, but no one commented on it. The second the cut was deep enough, Sirius yanked the knife back. Tears glistened in the corners of Remus’s eyes, but they did not fall, and Remus maintained his composure.

_Braveheart Gryffindor_ , a voice in Sirius’s head whispered, and for once, he agreed. Remus was the best out of all of them.

Once more, Sirius cleaned off the knife. Then, with his magic still dancing on the tips of his fingers, he turned back to Remus, ready with a healing spell, but Remus waved him off, instead producing a handkerchief from his pocket. He wrapped his hand and gave Sirius a small, reassuring smile.

Slightly confused, Sirius passed the knife to James, hardly able to tear his eyes off Remus and the thousand and one emotions flittering intermittently between his scars. He was pale, probably a little more than he should be after losing only thirteen drops of blood, and it made Sirius’s insides churn. Remus gave him his best, reassuring smile, but there was still pain hidden behind his eyes.

James sliced his own palm, then handed it off to Peter, who was doing his best to appear brave, but sobbed a little as he cut his hand. Sirius waved his hand and threw a healing charm at both James and Peter, as Remus began the final words of the incantation. Five minutes later, they had a cauldron full of life-force-imbued paint. Sirius flicked his fingers over the cauldron, adding a few weather-proofing and vibrancy charms just for good measure.

“Is it supposed to be that color?” Peter asked, leaning over the simmering black ooze.

Remus nodded. “Tap your wand to the paint and it’ll change to whatever color you need.”

“Jamie, did you bring paint brushes?” Sirius asked.

“‘Course.” James reached into the pocket of his robes and produced a handful of brushes.

“Good,” Remus said. He looked a little better, and this time his smile was a bit more convincing. Remus turned his back to the cauldron and flicked his wand at the canvases. The four sheets unfolded themselves and spread out across the floor, to form a giant rectangle.

James clapped his hands together, excited. “Now all we need to do is—”

“Oi, Potter! What the hell is all this?”

The four boys turned to face the stairs. Lily Evans stood with her arms crossed over her chest and an annoyed frown on her face. She was flanked on either side by Dorcas Meadows and Marlene McKinnon.

Remus looked between James and the first year girls. “What are they—oh.”

James put his hands on his hips and jutted his chin out, looking, all together, far to smug with himself. “Reinforcements,” James said, by way of explanation.

“I thought he meant the Prewetts,” Sirius muttered to Remus, though he really wasn’t too upset about it. He liked Lily Evans quite a bit these days.

“Me too,” Remus replied.

“Answer my question, Potter, or I’m leaving, agreement be damned,” Lily snapped.

“Agreement?” Sirius asked, quirking an eyebrow at Lily.

Lily pinched the bridge of her nose. “I agreed to help Potter with whatever stupid project this is if he agreed to leave Severus alone for the rest of the year.”

James held up a finger. “First of all, Lily, it is not a stupid project. Our names will live in infamy and our grandchildren will remember our legacy—”

“ _Our_ grandchildren?!” Lily snapped. Sirius couldn’t be reasonably expected to suppress the laughter that bubbled up in his throat.

James ignored her entirely. “Secondly—” He spun on his heel to face Sirius, Remus, and Peter. “—as per the terms of my agreement with the love of my life, _none_ of us will be going after Snape for the rest of the year. So, no more hexing Snivellus—or, er, _Severus_. Especially you, Sirius.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother explaining to James that he already had his own sworn agreement with Lily Evans regarding his conduct towards Severus Snape.

“Excuse me?! The _love of your—_ Christ, Potter.”

Lily drew her wand and shot a Stinging Hex directly at James Potter’s arse. Again, Sirius barked a laugh, before Lily trained her wand on him.

“Sirius, explain what’s going on _now_ , or you’re next.”

Sirius raised his hands in surrender. “We’re making a flag. We needed reinforcements.”

“A _flag_?” Dorcas asked, incredulously.

All three girls leaned to the side to glance around the Gryffindor boys. All three of them wore nearly identical unimpressed looks at the sight of the blank canvases spread out on the floor.

“A giant flag,” James clarified, still rubbing his arse.

“Doesn’t exactly look like much, does it?” Dorcas mumbled.

“Well,” Sirius said, “first we have to stitch it together—”

Marlene McKinnon nudged Lily aside and walked right up to Sirius, stopping only inches from his face. He didn’t blink—didn’t even flinch—but _Merlin_ , he hated that she was taller than him.

“We won’t be stitching anything just because we’re _girls_ ,” she snapped, her blue eyes flashing dangerously at the perceived injustice.

“That’s not what I said.” Sirius took a step back, just to be safe. Marlene was pure-blood, that much he knew, but she was also in Gryffindor, which more than likely meant that she wasn’t pure enough by the extremist Black standards. “I’ll be doing the stitching, thank you very much.”

Marlene scoffed. “How’d you end up with that job? Do you even know how to stitch?”

“Nope, but neither do they.” Sirius gestured wildly to James, Peter, and Remus. “Out of the four of us, we’ve unanimously agreed that I have the widest range of magic—”

“We’ve agreed to no such thing,” James Potter protested, looking affronted.

“Technically speaking, I think he’s right, Jamie,” Remus muttered. “Plus, Sirius knows all the permanence charms to make sure the flag doesn’t fall apart at the first gust of wind.”

“And he does them without a wand,” Peter added.

“That’s only because he had a head start,” James said, pouting a little.

Sirius smirked, absolutely revelling in the fact that all eyes were on him. “Anyways, I figured I’d just wave my hand, and—”

He did just that, muttered a quick joining spell and another permanence charm to boot. In the middle of the four canvases, a loose thread levitated and magically sharpened itself to a point, then shot downwards and began stitching two of the sheets together. The lines were precise and even, the stitching akin to the work of any professional. Sirius flicked his wrist again, and thread began stitching at every junction point between the canvases, until each end tied itself off, and there was only one, enormous canvas sprawled across the floor of the Astronomy Tower.

Marlene inclined her head, in bemused amazement at Sirius’s handiwork. “Impressive.”

“Alright,” Lily said, cutting in. “Now that we’ve established Sirius as the honorary girl—”

“Hey!”

“—Can someone please tell me what we’re _actually_ doing here?”

James held up the paintbrushes as if they were Excalibur and he was King-fucking-Arthur. Which, Sirius thought, was probably not too far off from the image James had of himself in his own head.

“We asked you lot here to help us paint the Hogwarts seal on the flag,” James Potter proclaimed to his loyal knights.

On cue, Remus tapped his wand to his chest, where the Hogwarts insignia was sewn onto his robes, then pointed his wand at the enormous canvas. _“Exscribo.”_

A perfect stencil of the Hogwarts insignia shimmered into existence, in full color, hovering a centimeter above the canvas.

Lily gawked at James. “You want us to… paint?”

“Yeah,” Sirius answered, because their noble King Arthur seemed to have gotten lost somewhere in the depth of Lily Evans’s eyes. “Remus said we have to paint it by hand, otherwise the charms we’re using to protect the flag won’t work.”

Lily turned her attention to Sirius. “Where exactly do you plan on hanging this flag?”

“Ah, that’s secret,” Sirius said. “But I promise you, there will be pomp and circumstance and they’ll remember it for generations. You can tell the little Potter grandchildren all about it.”

James made a disgustingly lovesick noise.

“Watch it, Black,” Lily growled, but there was no real fight in her voice.

Lily turned to face Marlene and Dorcas and the three of them conversed in furtive whispers. Marlene looked rather like she wanted to shove past Lily, tackle James and steal a paintbrush, then paint the entire canvas herself. Dorcas, on the other hand, kept tugging on Marlene’s sleeve and gazing longingly towards the door.

Eventually, Lily spun on her heel to face the four boys. “Alright, fine. We’ll help, but we’re signing our names on the flag. No use in you lot getting all the credit.”

Sirius glanced at his friends. Remus smirked, and nodded, amber eyes flashing with excitement. James was drooling a little bit, lost somewhere in his Lily Evans-induced coma. Peter stared at Remus’s robes, apparently trying to discern whether or not Remus had another Chocolate Frog in his pocket.

“Sign our names too, and you have a deal,” Sirius said to Lily.

She nodded, then strode forward and snatched a brush from James’s hand. James apparently took this as a cue to lean in for a kiss, so Lily punched him in the stomach. Sirius nearly doubled over in laughter, and was still clutching his own stomach when Remus carefully handed him a jug of Speckle Grass paint.

James Potter, however, didn’t seem deterred in the slightest. He followed Lily around, as she surveyed the canvas and the stencil, as if she were the sun and he was merely trapped in orbit.

“Merlin, he’s hopeless,” Remus muttered to Sirius, after his third attempt to get James to focus.

Sirius hummed in agreement. “It’s a wonder she punched him instead of throwing him off the Tower.”

“At this point, he’d probably grow wings and fly right into the sun.”

“Bloody idiot.”

The seven of them stood around the edges of the canvas, each holding a paintbrush and a small jug of paint, while Remus explained exactly how the paint would change colour.

Lily gestured to the shimmering stencil, and the four House insignias woven into the Hogwarts seal. “Who’s going to paint which House symbols?”

Sirius’s hand shot up in the air. “I’ve got Slytherin!”

“No!” Remus shouted, in counterpoint. He grabbed the edge of Sirius’s robe and tugged him over to the non-Slytherin side of the canvas. “Knowing you, you’d probably manage to paint an obscenity or two into the Slytherin symbol.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Sirius muttered.

Actually, in the three total seconds Sirius had had to come up with a plan, he’d landed on placing a Medusa Hex into his green paint, so that whoever looks directly upon the Slytherin symbol temporarily turns into stone. It would have been brilliant. Reluctantly, he let the idea go. He didn’t know how the hex would affect the blood ritual they’d done either, and, of the two, ensuring that the flag integrated into the magic of Hogwarts itself seemed exponentially more important.

“We’ll do Ravenclaw,” Remus said, before immediately sitting down by the navy portion of the stencil. He yanked Sirius down next to him.

“I’ll take Slytherin,” Lily said. Then, pointing her paintbrush as she talked, “Potter and Pettigrew have Hufflepuff. Marlene and Dee are on Gryffindor. When you finish with your house, start on the banner.”

With that, they got to work.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

It took them until fifteen minutes before curfew to finish painting, mostly because, about an hour in, James had finally snapped out of his Lily Evans-daze in order to have a proper shouting match with Marlene about some Quidditch team or other. It had only ended when Lily had jumped in and—to everyone’s surprise—had taken James’s side. It’d shut James up for all of fourteen seconds, before he’d walked over to Lily, got down on one knee, and proposed to her with a Golden Snitch he’d had in his pocket. Lily had dumped the remainder of her Speckle Grass paint on James’s head and, well, it all devolved from there.

As it turned out, Speckle Grass _paint_ was much more difficult to remove than Speckle Grass _dust_ , which Sirius attributed mostly to the utter brilliance of his permanence charms.

They signed their names under the banner, all seven of them written in black ink along the edge of the flag: Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadows, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and James Potter.

Lily Evans requested that her name be as far away from James’s as physically possible.

Standing and flicking the last of his paint in Sirius’s face, Remus smirked and waved his wand over the canvas, casting a drying spell. A second later, the flag folded itself back up. After another brief argument between Marlene and James, it was decided via intervention from Lily that _both_ James and Marlene could carry the flag back to Gryffindor tower. Peter trailed after them and, after waving a goodnight to Remus and Sirius, Lily linked arms with Dorcas and followed them.

Remus and Sirius followed, walking slowly, and keeping a well out of earshot of the others. Remus kept fidgeting with the handkerchief still wrapped around his left hand, picking at the paint that had dried there, trying to peel it away.

Outside the portrait hole, Sirius grabbed Remus’s robes and stopped him from crawling through. Sirius gestured at Remus’s left palm and the handkerchief that was stained with blood and Speckle Grass paint. “Is there a reason you won’t let me heal that?”

“It’ll heal on its own.” Remus shrugged, and the light from the common room caught on his face. He had a splotch of paint right across his nose and dripping down one cheek. It’d been blue, earlier, when Sirius had put it there. Now, though, the paint had turned into a deep crimson, and it made the parallel scars on Remus’s face look like they were brand new.

“It’ll scar if it heals on his own,” Sirius said, his voice breaking. Merlin, he couldn’t stand the thought of it. Remus had so many scars, from so many horrific nights of pain. Sirius would rather tear out his own entrails than be responsible for another scar on Remus’s body.

Remus gave him a sad smile. It wasn’t an absolution, but a heartbroken resignation. Remus muttered something that might have been, “It’ll scar either way,” but Sirius didn’t have a chance to even fully process that before Remus said, “Let’s go out on the roof, yeah?”

James and Peter ignored them, as Remus climbed through the window. They were still engrossed in the remnants of whatever meaningless argument James had had with Marlene. Sirius snagged the duvet from his bed and followed Remus.

It was cold out, but Remus didn’t seem particularly bothered. The stars shone brightly, only contrasted by the tiny sliver of the moon hanging low in the western sky. Sirius didn’t say anything, as he wrapped himself in the duvet and pressed his shoulder into Remus’s, revealing in the ever-present, yet significantly dulled twinge of pain.

The pain was comforting, if he was being honest. It meant that all of this was real, that he was here, on the roof, safe in the presence of a friend. It meant that all other pain, past and future, was irrelevant, because the stars burned specifically for them, and no amount of pain could mar the beauty of Remus Lupin.

They sat in silence, well into the night, pressed as close to each other as their respective tragedies would allow.

Sirius did his best to not think about the brand new scar on Remus’s left palm.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

**OCTOBER 30, 1971**

 

“How’s your essay for McGonagall going?”

“You’re asking me this _now_?!”

Remus and Sirius were in an alcove in the fourth floor corridor, just down the hall from the door that led to Ravenclaw tower. They were as close together as reasonably possible, and had ducked in here to avoid being seen by some fifth year Ravenclaws until their disguises were properly in place. Sirius flicked his wrist, and both of their ties morphed into that deep, Ravenclaw blue.

“I just meant…” Remus started, then sighed. “We’re not going to curse any Ravenclaws, Sirius.”

Sirius glared at him. “At what point did I give you the impression that I was secretly planning on cursing the Ravenclaws?”

“You didn’t. I just—Christ.”

“Despite what McGonagall would have you believe, I think I can tell the difference between some random Ravenclaw and Lucius Malfoy. For one, Malfoy’s blonde and fucking ugly Two, he deserved what he got.”

Remus grimaced. “Sirius—”

“Shut up,” Sirius snapped. “No one has any right to say those sort of things to you. Or hit you. I don’t care who they are.”

Remus ducked his head, embarrassed. A lock of curly hair fell in his face. A second later, he brushed it aside. “The Ravenclaws—”

“Don’t deserve to be cursed,” Sirius finished, trying not to roll his eyes. “They just need a gentle reminder that they are capable of being outsmarted. It’s all in good fun.”

He shot Remus a wicked smile and, much to his relief, Remus returned it. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will,” Sirius promised, dismissively. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t even bring my wand.”

He turned out his pockets, just to prove his point.

Remus drew in a sharp breath. “What? Your—Christ, Sirius. What if you—”

It was Sirius’s turn to grimace. “My wand has a bit of a preference for, er, _darker_ things. I didn’t want to accidentally muck anything up. There’s quite a lot of hexes we have to get through.”

“And you’re sure you can…?” Remus made a dramatic hand gesture that was supposedly meant to imitate Sirius’s wandless magic.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over the hexes about a thousand times, Remus. I’m sure I’ve got it right.”

That, at least, was only a _slight_ exaggeration. They’d been practicing the sequence of the hexes they planned on placing on the Ravenclaw roof for nearly two whole weeks. Twenty-six hexes in total, thirteen done by Remus, thirteen by Sirius, in an alternating pattern, with increased severity and duration of effectiveness as they progressed. They’d found, in a book Sirius had borrowed from McGonagall’s personal library for his essay on curses and Dark Magic, that each witch or wizard had their own magical signature. It was the personal _flair_ that usually gave curse-breakers a hard time, when it came to undoing certain hexes or jinxes, rather than the spell itself. The more personality each spell had, the harder it was to break.

They’d figured, then, if they alternated the hexes and performed a sequential locking spell to seal it, no one would really go through the effort of undoing the spells, even a rather determined Ravenclaw. Even if they _tried_ , they’d have to undo each spell in the order that Sirius and Remus performed them, counteract alternating patterns of Remus’s and Sirius’s magical signatures, all the while dealing with effects of each hex, set to go off with even the slightest bit of tampering.

All in all, it was all rather clever. Sirius and Remus were quite proud of themselves.

Remus leaned around the corner of the alcove, checking to see if the hallway was still clear. He turned back to Sirius. “What time is it?”

Sirius waved his hand and cast a _Timus_. It was ten minutes to three in the afternoon.

As far as plans go, this particular one was not without its flaws. For one, they’d all come to the conclusion that it was almost inevitable that they’d get caught. Peter, despite his constant lessons with James whenever the Quidditch pitch was open, was still a bit unsteady on a broom and had absolutely refused to fly the flag up with James at night. When James had complained to Sirius about leaving him for Remus, Sirius had merely handed the parchment containing his half of the twenty-six hexes to Peter. Peter had immediately tried the first one—the Tail-Growing hex. He’d somehow managed to fire the hex directly at the reflective surface of the dorm window, and it’d immediately backfired, and Peter had spent the rest of the day stuffing a long, bushy horse’s tail into the back of his trousers.

“Hooch locks the broom cupboard at night anyways,” James had grumbled, in surrender. “Stealing brooms in broad daylight it is.”

“If we’re resigned to getting caught,” Remus had said, after Peter eventually stopped whining about his temporary tail, “we just have to make sure that we don’t get caught until _after_ we get the job done.”

Which meant, of course, that they had to get the timing _just right_.

At three in the afternoon, precisely, Sirius and Remus would break into Ravenclaw tower by walking through the front door. After much debate between Sirius and Remus—and a brief consultation from one James Potter—it was determined that the front door was both the most effective and the least-suspicious method of breaking into Ravenclaw tower. Once they’d solved the riddle, Sirius and Remus would make their way up to the roof, perform and layer their hexes, lock all the windows, then make their way back through Ravenclaw tower, in order to meet James and Peter in the Great Hall. If luck was on their side, Remus and Sirius wouldn’t be caught at all, but had readily agreed to jump in and take an equal share in the blame when McGonagall ultimately caught James and Peter.

While Remus and Sirius secured Ravenclaw tower against any possible retaliation, Peter and James would carry the flag down to the Quidditch pitch and steal a couple of brooms. Then, at a quarter past three, they’d fly the flag up to the top of Gryffindor tower, mount it, and then James would perform the final binding charms to get the flag to integrate with the castle. Sirius and James had been up late the night before, practicing the wand movements and the hybrid Latin over and over and over, until James could finally pronounce _Sempiternum_ without stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables.

On a completely unrelated side note, Sirius’s essay for Ancient Runes was now stuck to the ceiling above James’s bed with one hell of a permanence charm. As Sirius figured it, future generations would thank him for his brilliance in Ancient Runes and would build shrines in his honour.

Sirius turned to Remus and gave him one last once over. They were only going to have one shot at this, after all. Remus’s Ravenclaw robes were perfect, if he did say so himself, but he was still very much… Remus. Sirius twirled his fingers, running over a few possibilities in his head for a second, before he flicked them at Remus.

Remus’s hair turned black.

“Oi! What did you—” Remus looked down at himself, trying to figure out what was different. Finding nothing, his hands went to his hair. Remus tugged on a curl, then pulled it down in front of his eyes.

Sirius snorted a laugh at Remus’s indignant glare. “You look like Jamie’s Welsh cousin.”

In retaliation, Remus drew his wand and flicked it at Sirius. A curtain of blonde hair fell into his face. Sirius yelped.

“You look like Marlene,” Remus said, rather proud of himself.

Sirius ruffled his hair for good measure. “I’m way prettier than Marlene and you know it.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her you said that. She’ll probably punch you in the face.”

Sirius grimaced. “Ugh, you’re right. Best not mention it to her.” He gave Remus another once-over. “We are passable Ravenclaws, aren’t we? Well, as much as can be done without Polyjuice, right?”

Remus tugged at the edges of his black curls and frowned. “Sirius, do you think you could, er…?”

Remus made a vague gesture to his face.

Sirius blinked, genuinely confused. “What, your eyes? I suppose I could spell them darker, like James’s, but I’m not sure how it’d affect your vision, and really, best not risk it with all the—”

“No, _Merlin_.” Remus scrubbed a hand over his face and Sirius couldn’t quite tell if he was frustrated or embarrassed. “My scars, Sirius. Can you do anything to hide my scars?”

Sirius frowned and slowly shook his head. “Not without a complicated Disillusionment spell. I’d need a wand and… a great deal of practice.” He drew in a breath and forced a smile. “It doesn’t matter anyway. We’ll be in and out of the common room so quick that those poor sods will hardly have time to look up from their books. No one will recognise you.”

“I’m rather recognisable,” Remus muttered, darkly.

“Yes, but compared to the alluring written word, you’re just another face in the crowd to a Ravenclaw,” Sirius said. “Muss your hair up a bit and you’ll be fine. I promise.”

Remus sighed, rolled his eyes to show Sirius that he didn’t believe him, but mussed up his hair all the same.His curls went out in every direction, and he tugged a few down to fall over his face.

Once the corridor is clear, Remus and Sirius make their way to the base of the tower. There was a large, ornate door, painted a dark navy. About three-quarters of the way up, there was an ancient, brass knocker, shaped rather like a battle horn.

“Do we just… knock?” Sirius asked.

“No, there’s a—” Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Didn’t you read that book I gave you on Rowena Ravenclaw?”

“Ah. Nope. I had to finish Evans’s book. There was a revolution. People were dying, Remus.”

The corner of Remus’s lip twitched up in a half-smile, so Sirius knew he wasn’t too bothered by it. “There’s a riddle,” Remus said, nodding to the door. “It changes every day. You answer it correctly and the door opens.”

“Well, that seems like a rather ineffective method of security.”

“As opposed to a generic password that hasn’t changed since the first day of term?” Remus deadpanned.

Sirius chose to ignore that. “Ravenclaws aren’t the only intelligent people in the castle, you know.”

“I certainly hope not, or this plan is fucked,” Remus muttered. “We’ve got about four minutes until three. Knock, Sirius.”

Sirius knocked.

The battle horn yawned, then, in a deep voice, bellowed, _“What is greater than God, and more evil than the devil? The poor have it, the rich want for it, and if you drink it, you’ll face judgment yourself.”_

Sirius coughed, nervously, his heart-rate picking up. “That’s rather… foreboding.”

“And rather poetic. If it’s poetic, it’s subjective, and if it’s subjective, it could literally be anything, so, _Christ.”_ Remus bit his thumbnail and stared at the ground.

“‘ _More evil than the devil,’”_ Sirius quoted. “Is my mother an acceptable answer?”

They stared at the door for a moment, but nothing happened.

“Apparently not,” Remus said. “Let’s focus on the second bit. What would kill you if you drink it? There’s poison, obviously, but—”

“What the hell is greater than God?” Sirius muttered. Sirius didn’t particularly like the whole concept of _God_ to begin with. He never had. Some big, omniscient being in the sky, moving the hands of destiny and fate at his very whim, regardless of the lives of the people he supposedly loves?

If Sirius had any say in it whatsoever, God didn’t fucking deserve the universe he created.

Sirius felt he had a right to have an opinion on that. Silas, the Slightly Psychic Pirating Parrot told him he’d kill God, after all, right? How’d that go again? Sirius started repeating the limerick in his head, straining to remember the exact wording.

 

_Sirius Black, how tragically flawed_

_Thought he might be the man to kill God_

_Now Nothing’s dictating—_

 

Sirius’s eyes went wide. “No way it’s that easy.”

Remus was still mumbling, mostly to himself, something about rich and poor and how maybe it’s _richer_ and _poorer_ , or some kind of vow. He ignored Sirius completely.

“Nothing,” Sirius said to the brass knocker. “Nothing is greater than God or more evil than the devil.”

The door clicked open.

Remus’s eyes snapped to him, a fair bit of wonder and confusion swirling in his expression. “How did you—”

Sirius had already started up the stairs. “I remembered something a pigeon told me. Now, _hush._ We can’t disturb the bookworms.”

The Ravenclaw common room, as it turned out, was rather similar to the Gryffindor one, except for the fact that there were book cases lining every wall and everything was blue. Everything else was the same: hearth, rug, random bits of armour. The sofas were even in the same position in the centre of the room.

It was all a bit… weird.

As Sirius predicted, absolutely none of the seven other people in the common room looked up from their books when he and Remus entered.

“Think it’s the same staircase?” Remus whispered, nodding to what would be the boys’ staircase in Gryffindor tower.

“That’d be my best guess,” Sirius replied.

They made their way up the stairs to the left and, thankfully, they neither ran into any Ravenclaws nor went sliding back down to the common room in any sort of dramatic fashion. Sirius shoved open the door to the first years’ dorm room and stopped. Remus nearly ran into him from behind, but pulled up at the last second.

“Woah,” Remus whispered, his breath ghosting the back of Sirius’s neck.

There were sixteen beds in the room, and it was, understandably, vastly larger than the room that the four Gryffindor first years shared. The dorm was empty, save for one bed in the far corner, where a Ravenclaw first year—Sirius thought his name was Micah, or something—was snoring with a book open across his face.

“Fabian told me we were the smallest Gryffindor class in three generations,” Sirius stage whispered. “Guess this is where the rest of the first years were sorted.”

“Glad I wasn’t one of them,” Remus muttered.

_Me too_ , Sirius thought, emphatically, but he was no where near brave enough to say that out loud. Instead, he gestured towards the window and Remus followed him, careful not to wake Micah-Or-Something.

The one thing, in all their weeks of planning, they hadn’t counted on was the wind. In hindsight, given that they were on the Scottish moors and it was almost November, the wind very much should have been a factor.

“Christ,” Remus swore, above the roar of the wind. He clutched his robes tight against his chest, making sure they didn’t just fly away. “This might be a problem.”

“As long as we keep our balance, we’ll be fine.” Sirius edged up the slanted roof, keeping one hand out for balance as he cast a protection charm on himself and Remus, in order that the hexes they were about to put on the roof don’t affect them.

“James and Pete—”

“They’ll be fine too,” Sirius said, but he wasn’t too sure if he was trying to convince Remus or himself. James, he knew, would most likely be fine. He was—though Sirius would never tell him—rather exceptional on a broom. Nonetheless, with Peter’s less than adequate flying skills plus the added weight and encumbrance of the flag, the wind may very well cause them some problems.

Remus nodded, his wild black hair whipping about in every possible direction. “Alright. Lock all the windows first, except the one we came through. I’ll start with the hexes.”

Sirius wiggled his fingers and shot a _Colloportus,_ followed by his own wandless locking spell at the nearest window, then proceeded to the next one. Remus finished up the first hex—they’d agreed that a sliding hex, that made the roof too slick to stand on, would be best as their first line of defence—and motioned for Sirius to start on the next hex, the Forget Me Not, which wipes the victim’s short term memory.

And so it went: they alternated the hexes, all the while careful to maintain their balance. When Remus did his portion of the hexes, Sirius moved from one window to the next, making sure they were all soundly locked and shut, and that no Ravenclaw would be able to break the charm.

All was going according to plan, until Sirius was in the middle of his ninth hex—a Gravity hex, that makes the victim’s shoes weigh a couple hundred pounds, therefore significantly decreasing the chances of levitation or effectively flying on a broom—when Remus shouted over the roar of the wind, “Fuck, Sirius, look!”

Sirius turned, his eyes searching the sky around Gryffindor tower, and, sure enough, there were James and Peter. James flew in front, hefting most of the canvas. Peter was a couple of meters behind and below, holding the long, wooden pole that they’d stolen from Hagrid last week. They were teetering dangerously, caught in the wind, with Peter being thrown about like he was nothing more than a rogue feather. The only reason the two of them and the flag were still airborne was because James Potter was a damn steady flier.

But even the best flier in the world couldn’t support the weight of that flag and another deadweight on a broom for long.

“Fuck,” Sirius shouted. He turned to Remus, shoving his stupid blonde hair out of his face as he did. “Can you cast a shield charm?”

“I know the spell,” Remus replied, looking a little uncertain. “But I don’t think I can from this far away.”

“We’ve got to stabilise them, or they’ll both go down,” Sirius forced himself to say, and _fucking Salazar_ , it was true. Sirius was starting to panic. “Just… point your wand at Peter and cast the spell. Try to block the wind. I’ll switch with you in a second.”

Remus turned his back to Sirius and did as instructed. The _Protego_ worked, to a degree, and Peter’s flight pattern evened out a little, but he was still wobbling quite a bit. Remus knit his brow in concentration, then snapped over his shoulder, “Get on with it, Sirius! I’m not sure I can hold this for long!”

Sirius finished off the Gravity hex, then locked the last two windows, save for their escape window. He went to stand beside Remus, his hands raised and his magic lacing all the way up his arms. He could make out the sweat on Remus’s brow, as Remus looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Ready?” Remus asked.

Sirius squared his shoulders and nodded, his eyes now locked on Peter.

“Now!” Remus shouted.

A heartbeat later, Sirius shouted, “ _Protego!”_

Peter swayed a little bit and they could hear the muffled sounds from James’s shout, but they stayed in the air.

Behind him, Sirius heard Remus cast the next hex, as quick as he possibly could without messing up the spell. Then, he was standing by Sirius’s side again.

They alternated between stabilising James and Peter and finishing up the hexes once, twice, three times, and—

“They’re at the top!” Remus shouted, and, sure enough, James hovered, holding tight to the canvas, as Peter mounted the base of the pole onto the top of the tower.

Sirius whooped in triumph, as he finished off his second to last hex.

Then, from far, far below: “POTTER GET DOWN HERE AT ONCE!”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look, then carefully peered over the edge of the roof. They could just make out McGonagall, standing in the courtyard with her wand to her throat. A crowd of shouting and clapping students began to gather around her.

Behind them, someone pounded on a window. Sirius spun around, only to meet the eyes of a seventh year Ravenclaw, whose face and palm were pressed flat against the glass as he shouted at them. The Ravenclaw turned, and shouted back towards the dorm, only to be joined by two more boys. They each took a turn pointing their wands at the window.

Remus glanced over his shoulder. “Christ, Sirius, lock the last window!”

“What?! But how will we—”

“Just do it!”

Right.

Sirius made his way down the roof, as carefully and quickly as possible, back to the window that led to the first year boys’ dorm. Each window he passed on the way, he saw Ravenclaws desperately trying to break glass and get onto the roof, all of them either shouting at Sirius or at each other.

The last window in sight, Sirius shouted a final _, “Colloportus_ ,” just as poor Micah-Or-Something made a break for the window.Micah-Or-Something crashed into the window face-first and crumpled to the ground. Sirius grimaced, but waved his hand for the final lock all the same.

“I think James has just about finished the binding charm!” Remus shouted, as Sirius hauled himself back to the top of the roof. The Ravenclaws continued to pound and crash into every available window, but to no avail.

Sirius Black was the goddamn master of locking charms.

“Stabilise Peter as I finish the last hex,” Remus said, and Sirius obeyed.

Less than a minute later, he switched with Sirius for the last time, and Sirius cast a final Blinding hex on the roof. 

“How the hell do we get down from here?”

Remus’s face twisted into something that would otherwise be considered apologetic, but there was still that wonderful gleam of mischief in his eyes that didn’t quite complete the look. “Can you touch Peter?”

“What?” Because, what, in the name of Merlin, could that possibly have to do with—

Oh.

“You want to—” Sirius gestured wildly in the general direction of James and Peter.

“Yes or no, Sirius.”

Well, that was the question, then, wasn’t it? He _could_ touch Peter. Technically. Far more so than James, certainly, but it still wasn’t entirely comfortable. Peter might be pure-blood, but he was nowhere near pure-blood in the same way or with the same pedigree as the Blacks or the Prewetts or even the McKinnons.

Now was not the time to sweat the details. He could handle it for the minute it took to get to the ground. “Yes.”

Remus smirked, then pointed his wand at Sirius’s throat. “ _Sonoros_.”

Sirius coughed, surprised by the weird tingling sensation, and, _Merlin_ , that was a lot louder than he’d expected. He glared at Remus, but waved his hands, trying to catch their attention. “Oi, Jamie! Come give us a lift, would you?”

“POTTER! BLACK!” roared McGonagall.

James and Peter, however, ignored her and sailed over to Ravenclaw tower. They were far more steady now that there was not a flag balanced between them, though Peter still dangerously overcompensated whenever there was a burst of wind.

“Everything all right?” James said, catching his foot on the edge of the roof. Peter hovered midair, a pace or two behind, clutching the handle of his broom for all he’s worth.

“We’re fine,” Sirius said, having to shout a bit to be heard over the roar of the wind and the increasingly loud shouts from the crowd down below. “The Ravenclaws just got a bit antsy and I had to cut off our escape.”

He gestured behind him, at the window. At least fifteen students now crowded it, each alternatively trying unlocking spells and pounding on the glass in frustration.

“Flag set up all right?” Remus asked. They could see the flag from here: enormous, proud, and its brilliant colours catching in the afternoon sun.

“It’ll stand for a thousand years,” James declared, puffing his chest out.

“POTTER, THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING!”

“She sounds angry,” Peter said, his voice barely carrying over the wind and the roar of the crowd down below. Peter leaned over to glance at the Ravenclaws through the locked windows. “They look angry.”

Sirius waved him off. “I have absolutely no idea why they should be angry,” he said with a smirk. “Come on, lads. Let’s go see what Minnie’s so upset about.”

James barked a laugh. “I dare you to call her that to her face.”

“Merlin,” grumbled Remus, climbing onto the broom behind James and wrapping his arms around James’s waist. “If he did that, McGonagall would have him in detention for the rest of his life.”

Sirius stuck his tongue out. “At least I’d beat the Prewetts’ record.”

“You’re on track to do that by the end of the year.”

Sirius shrugged. “Fair point.”

As carefully as he could, Sirius climbed onto the broom behind Peter, having to grab onto Peter’s shoulders to steady them after a particularly strong gust of wind. Remus shot him an apologetic look, and, if he’s honest, as they took off, Sirius found himself wishing things had gone according to plan and he and Remus were able to escape the way they’d come.

He was grateful, of course, that Remus had enough forethought to offer to ride with James for Sirius’s sake, but it certainly wasn’t ideal. Peter really was not that good of a flier, and with the added weight of another person, he kept swaying through the air and randomly plummeting a few feet at a time. Sirius found himself plastered to Peter’s back for fear of his life, and _Merlin_. It was nowhere near as excruciating as touching Lily or Remus, or even James, for an extended amount of time, but still. It didn’t _not_ hurt, touching Peter. It felt like… an _itch_ buried deep beneath his skin, right on the precipice of pain. It was the horrible feeling that he _should_ be in pain, but the sensation hadn’t quite boiled up to the surface just yet. It was… nauseating.

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to be over.

Madam Hooch and the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain met the four boys halfway. They flanked to the left and right of James and Peter, escorting the four of them back to the ground. Peter and Sirius landed hard, and Sirius staggered a bit on the dismount, still unsteady from the jerky flight and the almost-pain coursing through his veins. A second later, when James and Remus landed next to them, Fabian and Gideon Prewett rushed forward, applauding, completely ignoring the stone glare of Professor McGonagall.

“A truly remarkable feat,” Fabian said.

“Sabotage and glory, all rolled into one,” Gideon echoed. “Brilliant.”

Fabian slung his arm across Sirius’s shoulders. Sirius tensed a little, but didn’t shake him off. It didn’t hurt, even a little. Fabian tugged on a string of Sirius’s hair. “Mm. Not quite sure I like this, Black. You look a little too much like your cousin.”

Sirius pulled a face, then immediately waved his hand above his head, eradicating the horrific blonde for good. He flicked his fingers at Remus, too, for good measure, just as James began to tease him.

“That’s _enough!”_ McGonagall snapped and, Merlin, Sirius had almost forgotten about her. McGonagall’s eyes zeroed in on him. “Mr. Black, I want an explanation right _now.”_

Sirius shoved Fabian aside and took a step forward, glaring up at McGonagall. He opened his mouth, ready to shout the indignity of her prejudice, of her assumption that he was to blame for everything just because of his _name_ —

James nudged Sirius to the side and smiled up at McGonagall. “Oi, Professor, I don’t think it’s fair for Sirius to get all the credit. Didn’t you see me and Pete fly that flag up there? And, speaking of— While I have you and Madam Hooch here, I’d like to formally submit my name for candidacy on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I was thinking maybe as a Chaser, but I wouldn’t be opposed to—”

Remus let out an exasperated sigh and yanked James back by the collar of his shirt. “He means that this was all four of us, Professor. We planned it together, and we all worked together to execute the plan.”

Fabian put his hands over his eyes, mimicking binoculars pointed up at Gryffindor tower. “And what an ingenious plan it was!” He swivelled over to Ravenclaw tower, then back to Gryffindor. “Merlin, you really did it, didn’t you? I’ve been saying someone should do something about that for years, haven’t I, Gid?”

Gideon tossed a wink at Sirius. “He really has.”

McGonagall pushed her glasses back up her nose. “You two—” She pointed a long finger at Fabian and Gideon. “You will get this crowd to clear out in the next five minutes, unless you want me to hold you down and forcibly remove those ridiculous beards from your faces.”

Gideon smirked. “Kinky, Professor.”

“Mm. How delectably tempting,” Fabian echoed, stroking his beard for good measure.

“ _Enough!_ ” McGonagall snapped, raising her wand. Fabian and Gideon simultaneously grabbed their faces to protect their precious pink beards and began dispersing the crowd. McGonagall turned to Madam Hooch. “Rolanda, would you be so kind as to fly up to Gryffindor tower and take down that flag?”

“Yeah, good fucking luck with that,” Sirius muttered. James grinned wickedly.

Gesturing to the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain, Madam Hooch and her took off.

“As for the four of _you_ ,” McGonagall said, her voice laced with just enough contempt that it gave Sirius vivid flashbacks of his mother. McGonagall’s stone-cold glare tracking over James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter. “Report to my office. _Now_.”

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

“Are we going to get expelled?” Peter whispered as they waited for McGonagall. He wiggled nervously in his seat between James and Remus.

There were only three chairs on the students’ side of McGonagall’s great mahogany desk, so Sirius had taken to pacing next to Remus not long after they’d walked in. He’d thought about just walking around the desk and sitting in McGonagall’s chair, just to spite her for her obvious hatred of him, but he didn’t think he could risk pissing her off more. She’d just send another letter home and it’d be another nail in his coffin come Christmas.

“No, we’re not going to get expelled,” Remus said, with a sigh. “We’ll probably only get a telling off and a detention. No one got hurt.”

Peter slumped further down in his chair. “I don’t see why _I_ should get detention,” he mumbled. “I was hardly involved.”

Sirius turned on his heel, his magic flaring to life between his fingers, because there was no fucking way—

Remus held up a hand to stop Sirius and glared at Peter. “You spent weeks with James, figuring out Madam Hooch’s schedule, in order to steal a broom. You succeeded in stealing a broom. You flew the flag up to the top of Gryffindor tower. You were just as involved as the rest of us.”

“Yes, but I—”

“For fuck’s sake, Pete,” James moaned. “We all knew we were going to get caught. You can’t chicken out before McGonagall properly recognises us for our genius.” He leaned forward, to wink at Sirius. “Besides. She’s Gryffindor, when it comes down to it. She’ll be fucking proud.”

Sirius had his doubts about that. McGonagall seemed determined to hate him and anything involving him.

McGonagall flung open the door and stormed in, a whirl of burgundy robes and annoyance. She walked around the four boys, glaring at Sirius as she did so, then planted both her hands on her desk.

“Will one of you please explain to me exactly what happened this afternoon and why it involved stolen brooms and locking every window in Ravenclaw tower?”

The four boys exchanged looks: a silent swap of raised eyebrows and jerked nods and vague hand gestures. Then, through what Sirius would _like_ to call collective decision and diplomatic process (though it probably had a great deal more with betting against Sirius’s own temper), it was unanimously decided that James was probably the best spokesperson. Not because he’s the most tactful, certainly—that’d be Remus, hands down—but because James Potter exuded a sort of confidence that could be paralleled by absolutely nobody.

“Ravenclaw tower was taller than Gryffindor tower.” James flashed McGonagall his most winning smile. “So we fixed it.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Madam Hooch burst through the door, completely out of breath. Her hair was all out of sorts, presumably from the wind, and she was still holding her broom.

“Ah, Rolanda,” McGonagall said, her voice softening while addressing another member of the staff. “I trust you were able to remove the flag from—”

“Well, actually, Minerva—” Madam Hooch paused, seeming to realise suddenly that the four boys were in the room. She straightened up a little, her gaze flicking from Sirius to James, then back to McGonagall. “It seems that the flag is rather… stuck.”

“HA!” James shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

“You are on very thin ice, Potter. Do be careful,” McGonagall snapped, but no one in their right mind would ever call James Potter _careful_. That wicked gleam never left his eye. McGonagall addressed Madam Hooch again: “What about the windows in Ravenclaw tower?”

“Also rather stuck,” Madam Hooch said.

McGonagall fixed her glare on Sirius. “I suppose that’s your doing, then?”

Sirius had a sudden, suicidal urge to stick his tongue out at her. Miraculously, he refrained, and instead gave her a wild smirk, which he figured was answer enough.

McGonagall was not amused. “When we are done here, Black, I expect you to march back to Ravenclaw tower and open every single window. Am I understood?”

Sirius opened his mouth but—

“Actually, Professor,” Remus said, raising his pointer finger. “The locking spell can’t be undone by the person who cast it.”

That was utter and complete bullshit, of course, but it made Sirius’s heart fucking soar.

“Then _you_ will undo the spell, Lupin,” McGonagall said, her voice harsh, with an almost unnatural subterranean bite to it.

Remus put on his most sincere face: eyebrows pinched together, chin tucked in just a bit, to get the full effect of his enormously endearing puppy-eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to undo the locks, Professor.”

As far as Sirius was concerned, Remus was the _only_ one who knew how to undo the locks.

McGonagall glared at Remus for a long moment, but the puppy-eyes held, and she turned towards the rest of them. After a moment, her pale, blue eyes landed on Sirius. “I will _not_ have a group of…of _marauders_ running around this castle. You will—”

“Minerva,” Hooch said, raising a her index finger. “There were names, on the flag. These four and—”

_Oh,_ _shit_. Sirius bit his thumb, nervously, leaning over to exchange a rather panicked look with James. They weren’t supposed to get the girls in trouble.

“—Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, and Dorcas Meadows,” Hooch finished.

McGonagall sighed and pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Very well. Rolanda, please bring the girls into my office and—”

James jumped to his feet, startling everyone in the room. Peter nearly leapt out of his skin.

“They weren’t involved, Professor,” James said.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, a perfect arch above the rims of her glasses. “Oh?”

“Yep,” James said, tossing a pointed look at Sirius. Clearly, bullshitting a professor was not James’s forte. “We forced them to help. Told them the flag was for a special project… for Hagrid. Sirius did most of the spellwork on the flag, anyways. Lily, Marlene, and Dee just painted.”

“That’s right,” Sirius said, keeping his voice steady, with just enough dramatic flair mixed in to make it believable. “This was strictly a… a _Marauder_ operation. The flag and the whole Ravenclaw tower thing. Jamie, me, Pete, and Remus. Just us Marauders, Professor.”

A second later, Remus and Peter echoed his story, though Peter needed a nudge in the ribs from Remus before doing so.

McGonagall looked so very _done_ , it almost made Sirius laugh. Her gaze flicked to Madam Hooch. “Rolanda, would you please see if Professor Flitwick is available? See if he can’t get that flag down and restore Ravenclaw tower to its former state.”

Madam Hooch nodded and left the room, tucking her broom under her arm on her way out.

Sirius caught Remus’s eye, just as Remus smirked at him and winked. Flitwick could try, but they’d thought of absolutely everything. And, _Merlin_ , there was that gleam again, in Remus’s eyes. McGonagall couldn’t see it, and if she could, she’d be incapable of appreciating it. It was wild and mischievous and so beautifully triumphant and it made Sirius’s insides burst with a pride he’d never known before, because _that_ look on Remus’s face… It meant they’d _won_.

The four of them—the _Marauders_ —were utterly indestructible.

McGonagall couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Sirius was pretty sure, if he wanted to, he could grow wings and fucking _fly_.

“As for the four of you,” McGonagall said, placing both her palms flat on her desk and leaning forward. “Detention. Two weeks, with Filch. Black, you will finish your previous detention sentence with me _before_ you begin your time with Filch.”

Sirius had resigned himself long before they’d gotten caught that he’d be in detention for the foreseeable future, especially if McGonagall had anything to say about it. All things considered, especially given what had happened the _last_ time he’d been in this office, Sirius wasn’t too bothered by a few weeks’ detention. At least he’d have company, this time.

“I’m taking two hundred points from Gryffindor.”

None of the four boys so much as blinked at that.

McGonagall didn’t seem to appreciate their apathy too much. She narrowed her eyes.“You will not serve detention tomorrow night, but the four of you are also banned from the Halloween Feast. Food will be brought to you in your dormitory and you are not to leave Gryffindor tower for the duration of the night.”

James let out a noise of distress, but otherwise, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

McGonagall went on, unperturbed: “The feast is a reward for students on their performance, halfway through the term. Your recent behaviour and general predisposition towards mayhem—” Here, she paused to glare at Sirius. “—does not warrant an invitation to such a feast. Am I understood?”

Sirius just nodded, as James, Peter, and Remus all muttered varying degrees of, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” McGonagall sat down, picking up the nearest parchment and pretending to read it. “You may go.”

Sirius was almost out the door, when Peter said, “You’re not going to write our parents, Professor?”

If James and Remus hadn’t been in the way, Sirius more than likely would have punched Peter in the face. They were almost _free_.

Sirius’s imaginary wings collapsed in on themselves and bile rose in his throat. Remus shot him a look, his eyes almost as terrified as Sirius felt. Remus turned on his heel, his mouth open, ready to protest.

McGonagall removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes falling shut for a long, excruciating moment. Then: “There’ll be no need of that, Pettigrew. Although I expect behaviour of this nature to cease immediately, I do not find it necessary to inform your parents at this point.”

Thank fucking Merlin. Sirius let out a long breath, then spun on his heel, absolutely refusing to let the momentary panic ruin his mood.

“Well, lads,” James said, as soon as they made their way down the twisting staircases. “The first successful Marauder operation is in the books.”

“The first of many!” Sirius proclaimed, pumping his fist in the air.

“The first of many!” James echoed. “So, I was thinking…”

But Sirius was no longer paying attention. He was staring at Remus again, and holy mother of—

Sirius would never get over that look on Remus’s face. His tiny little smirk, and how it tugged at the scar on the corner of Remus’s lip. The amber in his eyes, dancing like rays of sunlight through firewhisky. That _look_ reverberated down to Sirius’s very soul: it was fire and freedom, it was an explosion in the depth of space that spawned life, the universe, and every moment actually worth living.

Sirius swore, on anything and everything holy left in the world, that he’d spend the rest of his life trying to put that _look_ on Remus Lupin’s face. 

Remus winked, when he caught Sirius staring. He leaned in close, his lips mere centimetres from Sirius’s ear.

“We _fucking_ did it,” Remus whispered.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

**OCTOBER 31, 1971**

 

“What, in Merlin’s name, are we supposed to do, locked up in this tower, when everyone else is at the feast?” James moaned dramatically, throwing his arm over his eyes. He was laying on the couch in the common room, his feet propped up on the arm rest and his tie hanging loose around his neck.

“Do you think we’re banned from the feast _forever_ , or just for this year?” Peter asked, a note of fear in his voice. He sat on an ottoman, engaged in a losing battle of Exploding Snap with Remus.

Remus and Sirius were carefully situated on the opposite couch: Remus, with his feet squarely on the ground, and Sirius, with his legs securely wrapped up, mermaid style, in a duvet stolen from Peter’s bed, sat with his feet resting in Remus’s lap. Every few minutes, he’d pull them back again, when the creeping pain became too much. He’d hug his knees to his chest for a few minutes, feign a stretch, then put his feet right back in Remus’s lap. It was comforting. Remus seemed to have worked out the pattern and went along with it without question.

Sirius scoffed at Peter’s comment, and subtly gestured to the card Remus should play next. Remus tossed the card down on the floor between him and Peter, and a second later, Peter’s cards exploded in his face.

“I don’t particularly care if they do ban us,” Sirius said. “I see this as an absolute win. House elves bring us our food and I don’t have to look at Snivellus’s ugly face while I eat my dinner. Plus, the whole school is in awe of us.”

This wasn’t quite true, of course, but even most of the Slytherins had looked adequately impressed when Dumbledore announced at breakfast that he’d put in for a footnote to be added to _Hogwarts: A History_. _“Gryffindor tower is the tallest of the dormitory towers, reaching a staggering height of sixty-four-point-seven-three meters, a height only surpassed by the Astronomy Tower,”_ Dumbledore had read from a large, official-looking parchment. _“The previous record, held by Ravenclaw tower since Hogwarts’s completion in 992 A.D., stood at precisely sixty-four-point-six-two meters. This addition to Gryffindor tower was completed by Messrs. Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and James Potter, on 30 October, 1971, and authenticated by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore_ , _on 31 October, 1971.”_

The Gryffindor table, naturally, had exploded in exuberant cheers. Even McGonagall had the decency to look moderately pleased, though certainly still perplexed as to how they’d actually pulled it off. A few of the seventh year Ravenclaws hadn’t been particularly thrilled by the announcement, and Sirius could guess why, after whispers of a failed, late-night attempt to rectify the situation had ended up with two seventh year Ravenclaws flying up on stolen brooms and subsequently losing their short term memories. Apparently, they hadn’t even been able to get through the second hex, nor had anyone, including Flitwick, been able to undo the locking charms on the windows.

“Speaking of,” Remus said, and Sirius felt his stomach growl even through the duvet, “where are the house elves? The feast must have started at least an hour ago.”

As if on cue, a whole spread of food appeared on the common room table. Little tables popped up out of nowhere, shoving aside other furniture, and holding an immense spread of everything from sheppard’s pie, to beef Wellington, to pumpkin juice, and a wide assortment of different puddings, including a lemon poundcake. (It was Sirius’s favourite. He’d moaned excessively, the first time he’d had it, and had immediately proclaimed the lemon poundcake as definitive proof in the existence of a higher power. It was probably only a slight exaggeration.)

No one said a word. Four sets of eyes stared at the feast in front of them in amazement.

Sirius pulled his legs from Remus’s lap, then stood, tossing the duvet somewhere in Peter’s direction. Sirius walked over to the spread and leaned over it, sticking his finger in a bowl of mashed potatoes. He stuck his finger in his mouth.

“That’s… a lot of food,” Sirius said.

“I thought we were in trouble,” James muttered.

“Maybe the house elves got confused?” Remus offered, already reaching for a slice of chocolate cake.

“Doesn’t matter,” Peter managed, over a mouthful of sheppard’s pie. Somehow, in the past minute or so, Peter had filled a plate and was already several forkfuls into his meal. “There’s food.”

Just then, there was a _crash_ , followed by a loud _bang_ , and a resounding cheer. Sirius, Remus, and James jumped in surprise. Peter choked on his fork.

Fabian and Gideon burst through the portrait hole, arm in arm. Both of them had their ties wrapped around their heads and tiny braids in their fuchsia beards. They were followed by, well… _all of Gryffindor_.

“My, my,” Fabian said, taking in the food and the four boys. “Seems our very own _Marauders_ have started without us. Gideon, if you please.”

Gideon smirked and pointed his wand up the stairs leading to the boys’ dormitory. He bit his tongue, in concentration. “ _Accio butterbeer_!”

A second later, a large case came flying down the stairs. It landed with a _clink_ at the Prewetts’s feet, then immediately opened. Bottles flew out of the case by the dozen, guided by Gideon’s wand, until each person in the overcrowded common room had one in their hands.

“Now,” Gideon said, “we only have enough of these for one each, okay? I’m looking at you, Longbottom!”

Frank Longbottom had already drained half his bottle. He paused mid-gulp. The twins burst out laughing.

“Our Frankie,” cooed Fabian. “All grown up and guzzling booze.”

Frank flipped two fingers up at them. The twins blew kisses back.

“To the Marauders!” Fabian shouted, raising his bottle.

“The bravest Marauders!” Gideon echoed.

“The greatest of their generation!”

“The kings of Gryffindor!”

“Let their names shine on in infamy!” Gideon clinked his bottle with his brother’s. “To the immortal Marauders, Lupin, Pettigrew, Black, and Potter!”

“The Marauders!” the crowd echoed, and followed it with a loud cheer.

James looked positively giddy, as the crowd broke apart to dig into the feast. Sirius butted to the front of the line, riding the glory, then grabbed a plate and slipped off to a corner next to a small dessert table with Remus.

“How do they know that name? Isn’t that what McGonagall called us?” Remus whispered to Sirius, as he took a cautious sip of his butterbeer. He seemed to like it, and immediately took another sip.

Sirius snorted a laugh. “James went around the Dining Hall this morning while you were still sleeping. He’s insisted that everyone call us that from now on. He was quite proud of it. It was adorable.”

“So—” Remus cut off, then glanced at his bottle. He downed the rest of it in one go. “Just to be clear, Fabian and Gideon… They’re making fun of us.”

“Without a doubt,” Sirius laughed. “But they mean well. We’re still the ones with a footnote in our very own history.”

Remus smirked. “I can see the jealousy radiating off of them.”

“Mm, no, I think that’s coming from the pink beards.”

Remus chuckled, as he carefully reached around Sirius for another piece of chocolate cake. “Have they convinced you to join their cult yet?”

“Their _what_ now?!”

Remus gestured to Fabian and Gideon with his fork. “They’ve started a religion, to make sure McGonagall can’t make them get rid of those beards.”

“Well, yes, I knew that, but—”

“They’ve amassed followers.”

“They’ve…” Sirius followed Remus’s gaze, and, sure, he’d noticed a few of the Prewetts’s friends had also sprouted colourful beards recently—the orange beard was particularly fetching on Emmeline Vance—but, _Merlin_ , they wouldn’t—

Fabian and Gideon stood at the centre of a group of Gryffindors, including none other than Marlene McKinnon, all of their faces sporting brightly coloured—and now _braided_ —beards.

A burst of laughter bubbled up in his gut and Sirius leaned on the dessert table for support. “Fuck, how’d I miss that? Marlene—”

Remus smiled around his fork. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“It’s _green!_ ” Sirius said, gesturing to Marlene’s beard. “When did she get that?!”

“Last week, I think?” Remus replied. “Fabian’s been trying to get you to notice for ages. I think you’re right, by the way. He definitely has a crush on you.”

Sirius smirked. “Mm, ‘course he does. I’m fucking gorgeous.” When Remus opened his mouth to reply, Sirius waved a threatening finger in his face. “But I’m not going to join his cult.”

Remus feigned sympathy. “Aw, but it’ll break his heart.”

“Shut up, you.” Sirius stuck his tongue out. Remus flicked a bit of chocolate cake at Sirius. “ _Gah! Gross!”_

Sirius scooped up a glop of potatoes with his first two fingers. He aimed right for Remus’s face, when—

“Oi, Black, get over here!” Lily Evans shouted, her voice echoing over the crowd.

Sirius and Remus turned, their impromptu food-fight forgotten.

It took Sirius a second to piece together what exactly was happening. James stood on a table, his feet planted firmly between two plates of food, holding what was certainly _not_ his one and only glass of butterbeer. His glasses were askew and sliding down his nose, his hair was a sight to behold, and—

Were those fucking _antlers_?!

James swayed on his feet, thrown a bit off-kilter by either the butterbeer or the _goddamned antlers_. Lily Evans, presumably, as Sirius suspected, the reason behind said antlers, reached out a hand to steady him.

“Sirius, Potter seems to have forgotten about your bet,” Lily announced to the entire common room.

“Wha—”

_Oh._ That bet. He’d forgotten she knew about that.

Lily gestured for them to come over and, well, to be quite honest, Sirius didn’t _want_ to join them in the centre of the crowded room. Too many people, too many happy-friendly-nice people who’ll pat him on the back when James snogged him.

Remus, apparently sensing Sirius’s anxiety, pushed his way through the laughing crowd, carving a path for Sirius to follow mostly unscathed. Sirius kept his arms tucked close to his chest, careful not to touch or, worse, be shoved into Remus or Lily. After a moment of hopping around uncomfortably, Sirius climbed up on top of the table with James, and Merlin, it did wonders for his confidence. He plastered a smile on his face.

“Technically,” James said, holding up a shaking finger. “ _Technically_ you got caught, so you didn’t _exactly_ win.”

“That was _your_ fault, mate!” Sirius protested, mostly for the sake of the crowd. “Remus and I had an escape plan!”

“Oi!” James slurred. “It was windy!”

“I broke into Ravenclaw tower. That was the deal.”

“Yes, but— _Mmph!_ ”

In a moment of true Gryffindor courage, Sirius grabbed James by the antlers and crashed their mouths together. It was sloppy and holy- _fucking_ -Merlin it _hurt_ , but the crowd roared out waves of laughter and raucous cheers and every nerve in Sirius’s body buzzed with life, uninhibited.

Five, ten seconds later, Sirius shoved James away so hard, James almost fell, but both of them were laughing so hard it didn’t even matter. Sirius’s lips stung and his hands tingled a bit, but he didn’t care that it’d hurt. He didn’t even particularly care that it’d been James. It could have been anyone in this goddamned room. It meant he’d chosen something, that he’d made it happened just because he fucking wanted to, consequences be damned. It was intoxicating. He’d never known a rush like it before.

James wiped a hand over his mouth, and let out his own burst of wild, uninhibited laughter. “You slobbered all over me, you fucking mutt.”

Merlin, how the crowd roared.

James hopped down from the table, shoved Lily aside, then stood up on his tiptoes to cup Remus’s face. James kissed him square on the mouth. Remus’s eyes went wide in shock and Sirius nearly collapsed in on himself in laughter. Recovering from his initial surprise, Remus wrapped his long arms around James and made a show of it, until James was scrambling to get away, his face beet-red.

“I suppose that’s because I also broke into Ravenclaw tower?” Remus said, perfectly composed, and Sirius _couldn’t_ fucking breathe, he was laughing so hard.

James nodded, stunned into silence.

“Frankly, I’m feeling rather left out,” Fabian said, stroking his beard in what can only be described as an attempt at a parody of seduction. “What do you say, Potter? I’ll meet you in the cupboard.”

James’s eyes went wide, and he made a hasty exit, shoving his way back through the crowd. Someone started music, and the crowd pressed close together, dancing, and laughing, and revealing in the joys of life.

Suddenly, all feelings of euphoria melted away and Sirius found himself trapped, standing on a table in the centre of a crowded room with absolutely no exit strategy. Sirius wondered if anyone would notice if he stood there the rest of the night, until the crowd cleared up enough for him to make his way through without touching anyone.

“Hey,” Lily Evans called up to him, green eyes wide and eyebrows pinched together in concern. “Hey, Sirius, are you okay?”

He must have made some kind of face, because the next thing he knew, Remus was standing next to her, and Peter’s duvet had made a miraculous reappearance.

His heart racing, Sirius hopped down from the table, as Remus carefully wrapped the duvet around his shoulders.Merlin, there weren’t words for his gratitude, so he muttered a simple, “Thanks,” and met Remus’s eyes, praying he could somehow convey the rest.

Remus gave him a small smile, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Follow Lily to the dorm. I’ll cover for you here.”

Sirius’s eyes went wide. He shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I should—”

“Sirius,” Lily said, gently placing a hand on his duvet-covered arm. He hardly even felt the pressure of it. “Let’s go.”

Sirius managed a weak smile. “Tell Marlene I love her beard,” he said to Remus, before following Lily through the crowd.

People laughed, and slapped his shoulder, jostled him around, and Sirius played it off with a wide smile, as best he could, eternally grateful for the duvet, even though it was covered in someone’s spilled dinner by the time they reached the stairs.

Lily and Sirius stopped halfway up the staircase and sat, their backs against the curved, stone wall, two steps apart from each other. Sirius tossed the duvet on the step below him and muttered a quick cleaning spell.

“So,” Lily said, eventually. Up here, the noise of the crowd hardly mattered. “Not a fan of crowds, I take it?”

Sirius scoffed. “That obvious?”

“Sorry for doing that to you. I didn’t mean—”

“I’m glad you did,” Sirius said, quickly, because _fuck_ , he _was_ glad. He smiled at her, and this time, it was genuine. “You meant well. It was fucking hilarious. James would probably like me to tell you that he’s a fantastic kisser.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “Is he really?”

“Not in the slightest. I’ve had better kisses from my mother, whenever she’s forced to pretend she likes me when we have company.”

“Please promise me you’ll tell Potter that when he’s sober.”

Sirius laughed. “Oh, Merlin. How many has he had?”

“Well,” Lily said, letting her head _thunk_ against the stone wall behind her. “He had his own, then Peter’s, then the rest of Frank’s when Frank wasn’t looking. Frank took ten points from Gryffindor for that, by the way. At that point, I found it necessary to donate my own butterbeer to the cause.”

Sirius sent her a sly smirk. “The cause to get James Potter drunk enough to snog his two best mates?”

“It was a truly noble cause.”

“We’ll make a Marauder out of you yet, Evans.”

“Ugh, no thanks.” Lily picked at the chipped, green nail polish on her fingers. “Just so you know, that thing with the flag and Ravenclaw tower? Pretty much the stupidest plan ever.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Thanks, Evans. I came up with it myself. Well, Remus helped. Peter brought snacks. And James was… there, though he did do most of the flying.”

Lily looked unimpressed.

“You think you could have done better?” Sirius challenged.

“I know I could have.”

“Doesn’t matter, though, does it?” he said, with a teasing note in his voice. “It _worked_.”

“You got _caught_.”

“Yes, and McGonagall accidentally threw us the best part of the year.” Sirius paused, the implications of that particular statement suddenly smacking him in the face. “Merlin, do you think McGonagall did it on purpose, banning us from the feast and all? Do you think she’s trying to reward us for our unquestionable genius, but, like, without _actually_ rewarding us?”

Lily giggled. “If she was, she’d never admit to it.”

“Mm, you’re right,” Sirius said, relaxing against the wall. The sounds of music, laughter, and the occasional loud shout of jubilation from a very drunk James Potter echoed up the stone walls.

Sirius tilted his head, meeting Lily’s green eyes. “Just out of curiosity, what did James do to warrant antlers?”

“He announced that our first child would be named either Herbert or Edna, after his dad’s parents.”

“Just thank your lucky stars he didn’t go with Fleamont.”

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

**NOVEMBER 2, 1971**

 

“Sirius?”

“Out here.”

Sirius closed his fist to extinguish the _Lumos_ charm that had been dancing between his fingers. He leaned forward a bit, his eyes locked on the faint silhouette in the dormitory window.

Remus yawned as he climbed through the window and took his place next to Sirius. He shivered slightly, and Sirius waved his fingers and muttered a warming charm over Remus.

“Are you just getting out of detention?” Sirius asked.

It was late, well past midnight at that point. The wonderfully bright, nearly-full moon shone brightly overhead, bathing them in ethereal light. It made Remus’s scars stand out, bright and silver against the relative darkness of the night, etched in intricate patterns across his face and hands.

Merlin, Remus’s scars were more mesmerising than the stars.

“Yeah,” Remus said, fidgeting a little. He kept his eyes down, looking out across the castle grounds instead of up at the moon. If he felt Sirius’s stare, he didn’t say anything. “How about you? How’s that essay?”

“Essay’s done, as of this morning. Three fucking rolls of parchment on the difference between Dark Magic and curses. Lots of citations. Minimal sarcasm. All pretty boring, really.” Sirius gave Remus his most winning smile. “Still three more detentions with McGonagall before I move on to scrubbing trophies with Filch. What’d he have you doing tonight?”

“He sent me to clean out McGonagall’s office. After you’d left, apparently.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes,” Remus said, nodding sagely. “In the middle of cleaning her office, I came to a realisation that I could not, morally speaking, allow such an opportunity go to waste.”

“Of course not. Please do continue.”

“So I decided that I’d make the ink on all the Slytherins’ Transfiguration essays disappear.”

“I love it.”

“Naturally, I had to break into her desk.”

“You devious little shit.”

“It was easy, really. Her locking spells are no where near as complicated as yours.”

“That’s because mine are custom made.” Sirius wiggled his fingers for emphasis.

“Then I open the desk, and right there on top, there’s this giant folder labeled _Sirius Black_.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Oh, please tell me she’s been spying on me in cat-form. You know, sometimes I get the feeling I’m being watched, and I could be crazy, but I have found little fur balls—”

“No, she’s not spying on you, you dolt,” Remus said, laughing a little under his breath. “But I did find something interesting.”

“What?”

Remus’s eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and holy mother of Merlin, they were gold again. Perfect reflections of the moon, shining brighter than anyone’s eyes ought to in the dark, and Sirius was utterly and completely lost in the wonders of the universe reflected in Remus’s eyes. He couldn’t look away, even when Remus laughed at his expression, drew his wand, and summoned something from their dorm room. Even when Remus offered it to him. Sirius was _gone_ , millions of miles away, melting into nothing in the molten gold of Remus’s eyes.

Remus shoved the package into Sirius’s lap, chuckling softly, and finally, Sirius crashed back to earth. His face scrunched up in confusion at the neatly wrapped present on his lap.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow, Siri,” Remus said, his voice soft.

Oh.

Sirius looked between the package and Remus. “You got me a—”

“A present? Yeah.”

Sirius tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. ”No one’s ever… Except Reg, one year, but even then it wasn’t...”

Remus gave him a sad smile, but it did nothing to extinguish the brilliant gold of his eyes. “I figured that might be why you didn’t mention it was your birthday. Go on. Open it.”

Sirius looked down at the present again and shook his head. “No. I should wait until tomorrow, or—”

Something in Remus’s eyes flashed, a white hot bolt of pain. “No, no. Please open it tonight. I know it’s early, but—”

_Fuck_. Sirius’s heart sank with understanding. “You’re leaving.”

Remus nodded, tears welling in his eyes.

“When?”

“In a few hours.” His voice was tight, apologetic and almost broken.

Sirius reached out a hand, his fingers hovering over Remus’s face, tracing his scars in midair. “Your eyes turn gold, and then you leave,” he whispered. “A few days later, you come back bloody.”

A tear fell from Remus’s eye, landing on the corner of his mouth. Remus’s tongue darted out to catch it as he took a in a shaky breath.

“Is there any way I can convince you to stay?”

Watery, golden eyes snapped up to meet his. “Christ, Sirius, I’d give just about anything, but…”

Remus’s hand flew to a mouth as he tried to suppress a sob.

Sirius shuffled closer, as close as he dared without actually touching Remus. “How can I help?” Sirius whispered. “Please tell me what I can do, Re.”

Remus sniffed, then reached up his hand, his fingers hovering a mere hair’s breadth from Sirius’s. “You can be here when I get back,” Remus said, his voice far more steady than it had been a moment ago.

With his free hand, Sirius made a cross over his heart. “I solemnly swear it.”

“Thank you,” Remus whispered, then lowered his hand. He smiled, and it was mystifying, really, like his face had been carved from marvel, and the artist had spent eons mapping every one of Remus’s scars. Remus gestured to Sirius’s lap. “Open your present, Siri.”

There was more to say—there was _always_ so much more to say—but Sirius nodded and ripped open the paper. A book fell into his lap, tiny and well-worn, with a rose and a fox on the cover. The title read, _Le Petit Prince_ , in elegant, gold cursive.

“ _The Little Prince_. Remus, is this yours?” Sirius breathed. “I can’t—”

Remus shook his head. “No! I mean, yes, it’s mine, but I want you to have it. You… Christ, Sirius just take it. Read it. It’s…”

“Special?”

Remus let out a small, breathy laugh. “More than you’ll ever know. It’s in French, so—”

“My French is impeccable, thank you very much.”

“I’ve charmed it, too,” Remus said. “Tap your wand to it—or, er, your finger, I guess, but use magic—and say, _‘All men have stars_ ’. It’s a concealment charm, in case your mother ever decides to go through your trunk.”

Sirius held his gaze for a moment, then obeyed. The book shimmered a little, then faded to brown leather. The gold writing morphed into a new title: _Three Thousand and Thirty Six Potions for Young Wizards_. Sirius opened the book, but all of the pages were blank.

“Say the same thing, and it’ll change back.”

Sirius tapped his fingers and said the words once more. He smiled up at Remus. “Thank you.”

Remus watched him for a moment, his eyes flickering with something that Sirius couldn’t quite make out, but it was enchanting. The corner of Remus’s lips twitched upwards, in something of a smile, but there was a sadness there, too, buried beneath it all.

“This makes it worth it, you know,” Remus said, his voice barely carrying over the ambient noise of the castle and the moon and the whole host of the heavens above them.

“Makes what worth it?” Sirius replied, almost too scared to ask.

Remus let out a low, self-depreciating laugh. “I wasn’t going to come to Hogwarts. Did you know that?”

Sirius frowned. He hadn’t been expecting that. “What? But you’re a wizard.”

Remus ignored him, save for a small quirk of his eyebrow. “Dumbledore came to my house. More or less begged my parents until they relented.” Remus tore his eyes from Sirius and gazed over the castle, bathed in moonlight, fog, and and the eerie glow of torch-fire. “I never thought I’d get to see any of this.”

“But why wouldn’t you—”

“I never thought I’d have a friend who’d wait for me to come back every time I leave, who’d wait up for me, who’d bring me chocolate and steal my pillows. All those years, all that pain, and the scars and the fucking _agony_ every goddamned time…” Tears streamed down Remus’s cheeks, now, glistening silver rivulets cut and dissected by the scars already lining his face. Golden eyes flared brighter, unearthly and almost… inhuman, but so wild and _kind_ and filled with pain no creature should ever know. “I was never meant to have any of this, least of all you.”

Sirius clamped his mouth shut, swallowing all his questions. He shook his head, vehemently, because _no_ , that wasn’t true. Remus was _good_ and kind, and fucking _Merlin_ , Remus Lupin deserved every ounce of perfection and happiness this world had to offer. Sirius would give anything—

But the pain never left Remus’s eyes. “Merlin, Siri, half the time I convince myself that you’re not even there, that you’re a figment of my imagination, or… or you’re a manifestation of all those years I spent with nothing.” Remus reached out his hand, and it hovered over Sirius’s face. “How are you even real, Siri?”

Sirius didn’t think. He grabbed Remus’s hand in his own, clutching it tight as Remus’s face lit up in alarm. Remus tried to pull away, but Sirius held on, gritting his teeth, his eyes watering in unimaginable pain, but he didn’t care.

He didn’t _fucking_ care.

“I’m real,” Sirius said, his voice cracking. “I’m real, Remus. This _… This_ is real.”

Finally, he let go, and Remus tumbled backwards, putting as much distance between himself and Sirius as the roof would allow.

“Fuck, Sirius,” he whispered. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did.” Because, of course, he did.

Because the insanity of choosing pain—even an indescribable pain such as that—proved they were still alive, still breathing, still caught perpetually in each other’s orbits.

The world could capsize, could burst into a hundred million pieces, but this… _this_ one thing between them would still be there: unbreakable, unending, a culmination of all the shattered scars between them.

_This_ was the very reason Sirius’s heart was still beating.

Remus huffed, laughing a little, because what else can you do when you stare inevitably and insanity right in the face? “Some birthday celebration, huh?”

Sirius shrugged. “Best one I’ve ever had.”

“This was supposed to be fun.”

“You got me a book. That’s definitely fun.” Sirius shot him a wry smirk. “If you come back in one piece, my birthday will be even better.”

“I’ll do my damnedest.”

Sirius flipped the book open to the first page. “What’s it about?”

A look crossed over Remus’s features: something of amazement. Maybe something as astronomically crazy as _hope_. “A fox, a rose, a prince, and all the wonders of the universe,” he whispered.

“Read it to me?” Sirius asked, offering the book out to Remus. “At least for a little?”

Remus nodded, taking the book. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo.... Sorry for the delay. Life happens. I hope the nearly 30K chapter was worth the wait. :) I probably could have broken this into two chapters, but I'm kind of committed to the whole twelve chapter total thing, so I hope you enjoy the super duper long chapter? Ha. And, guess, what? This is the halfway point for Year One! Yay! Can't wait to share the rest with you!
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with this and for reading. Promise to update soon. More to come with Sirius and Remus in PAY THE FERRYMAN, next chapter.
> 
> If you want to bother me on tumblr, I'm @sirius-black-killed-god.


	7. Pay the Ferryman

 

**NOVEMBER 3, 1971**

 

Sirius shivered, clutching his cloak tight against his chest. He’d transfigured it, a little bit longer and a little bit heavier, to combat the cold weather, but it still did little against the wind outside the castle. Snow flurried around him, coating the ground and, much to his annoyance, his hair. His breath came out in little frozen puffs.

He’d barely reached up to knock on the enormous door to Hagrid’s hut when Andromeda threw it open and nearly tackled him in a hug. She was laughing, almost manically, and Sirius returned it. He wrapped his arms around her waist and let her warmth surround him.

After a minute, Andromeda pulled back, cupping his probably-frostbitten face in her hands. “Happy fucking birthday, kid,” she said, a grin spread wide across her face.

Inside, Hagrid crouched over the hearth, stoking the flames, and coaxing a kettle to boil. He stood, when Andromeda and Sirius walked in, and clapped his gigantic hands together. “Sirius!” Hagrid boomed. “So glad you could make it. Spot hasn’t shut up about missin’ you since you left. She’s even saved you a seat.”

Hagrid gestured to the table, where two large chairs were pulled out. On the one nearest them, Spot, the orange-striped kneazle, sat, curled around herself, her tail flicking, and her large, green eyes locked on Sirius. She jumped down, as elegantly as a lioness, and pranced right up to Sirius, wrapping her long tail around his leg. She purred.

“Oh, she’s quite taken with you, Sirius,” Hagrid said, with a deep, bubbling chuckle. “No surprise, really. Professor Cuckoo says yer the top of his class, did ya know that?”

Sirius hadn’t, and shook his head. If he was at the top of his Care of Magical Creatures class, it was only because Remus was the absolute _worst_ when it came to the handling of magical creatures. He’d come within a few feet—or sometimes even just within a thousand meters—and every creature, from Hickory Dave to Professor Cuckoo’s flobberworms, seemed to lose their shit. Sirius spent most lessons first calming down Remus, who took great offence at the creatures’ distaste for him, and then consoling whatever creature had been traumatised for the day. He had a knack for handling the creatures, sure, but he hadn’t really thought it was anything out of the ordinary.

Spot hooked her tail around the back of his knee and more or less dragged Sirius to one of the giant chairs. He sat, obediently, and Spot immediately hopped into his lap and went to sleep.

“She’s… nice,” Sirius said, and he meant it. Mostly. She hadn’t try to claw him to shreds just yet.

For the record, Sirius still hated cats.

“That she is,” Hagrid said, with a burst of pride. ”Wanted to wish you happy birthday, Sirius. Woulda baked you a cake if Andy had given me any warning that you’d be comin’ by today.”

_Andy?!_ Sirius mouthed to Andromeda, when Hagrid turned his back to grab the kettle. Andromeda ran a finger across her throat, demanding his silence on pain of death.

“Er, thanks, Hagrid,” Sirius managed, after another pointed glare for Andromeda. “It was kind of a… last minute thing.”

It had been, too. Andromeda had written him that morning: a short note that wished him a happy birthday and then went into vague allusions to a viable plan to keep Sirius at Hogwarts over Christmas. Sirius had scribbled back a hasty reply, then had ducked out of History of Magic the second Professor Binns began his lecture.

“Well,” Hagrid said, clapping his hands together once more, after handing off the kettle to Andromeda. “I’ll leave ya to it, then.”

“No,” Andromeda said, her voice genuinely kind. She set the kettle down on the table next to Sirius. “No, Hagrid, please stay. It’s not fair for us to kick you out of your home, especially when it’s snowing.”

“Aw, it’s all right,” Hagrid said. He grabbed his cloak from a hook above the door. “I’ve gotta tend the hippogriff herd. It’s calving season, y’know. Merlin knows why the daft creatures insist on birthin’ in the middle o’ winter, but I’m not going to question them. Delicate sensibilities, those hippogriffs.” Hagrid turned back to face them. He bent down a little and winked at Andromeda. “Besides, the less I know about the dealings of the Black family, the longer I’ll live, I expect.”

Andromeda and Sirius exchanged a look. It wasn’t like Hagrid was _wrong_ about that.

“Thank you for lending us your house, Hagrid,” Andromeda said. “I’ll make sure Ted sends some nutrient potions your way for the baby hippogriffs.”

Hagrid smiled, and maybe a tear welled in the corner of his eye. Sirius couldn’t quite tell. “Thanks, Andy. Happy birthday, Sirius.”

Spot let out a growl as the door opened and let in a blast of cold air, but was back to purring the second it slammed closed again behind Hagrid.

“So,” Andromeda said, raising an eyebrow. She flicked her wand at the kettle and it levitated off the table, pouring tea into two separate mugs. “You didn’t bring your friends.”

It wasn’t an accusation, per se. Not really. But something about Andromeda’s tone of voice sent Sirius’s insides bubbling. It was almost like she _pitied_ him. He felt his face flush red. “I, er. Um. Well—”

“You didn’t tell them it was your birthday.”

“I, um. No.”

Andromeda’s face softened. “You could have, Siri. From what it sounds like, they would love to celebrate with you.”

“I know,” Sirius mumbled. “Party of the century, probably. I don’t know, I just…”

“Never really celebrated it before?” she asked. Sirius’s eyes snapped to hers. She waved her hand, dismissively. “I was the same way, when I came to Hogwarts. I didn’t really celebrate my birthday until Ted figured out when it was, in fourth year.”

Sirius laughed a little. “Yeah, well. Remus figured mine out, too. He broke into McGonagall’s office _during_ detention and stole a file with my name on it. He gave me a Muggle book last night. We stayed up reading it.”

“He… _broke into McGonagall’s office?!_ ” Andromeda repeated, barking a laugh. “Merlin, where is this Remus? I want to meet him.”

Sirius suddenly felt like the floor had been torn out from under him. “He…”

Merlin, Sirius didn’t know what to say. _He’s gone to see his family, but he’ll be back later today, hopefully, but he probably won’t be in one piece. They hurt him, you know. He has scars. He has so many fucking scars and I can’t do anything to—_

No.

Even _if_ Sirius thought Andromeda could help Remus, it wasn’t Sirius’s secret to tell.

So, Sirius repeated the company line: “His mother’s sick. He had to go visit her.”

Andromeda nodded. “I’m sorry he couldn’t be here to celebrate, then.”

Sirius put on a brave face and waved her off. “I thought we were coming up with a scheme to keep me away from the Warden.”

“Mm, same thing. But, before I forget…” Andromeda reached under the table and shoved a box at Sirius. It wasn’t wrapped, just a wooden box marked ZONKO’S. “Ted and I thought that since you have something of a proclivity for pranks, these might help you out.”

Inside was the best assortment of joke products that Sirius had seen outside a store. Dungbombs and Sticky Straws, Frog Spawn Soap, and Nose-Biting Teacups. Sirius grinned up at his cousin.

“Thanks, Andy,” he said, snickering a little at the horrible nickname.

“Call me that again and I will quite literally shove a Dungbomb down your throat.”

Sirius grabbed the box and pushed it well out of her reach, just as a precaution. She was a Slytherin, after all. Spot growled on his lap and peeked one eye open, glaring at Andromeda, before closing her eyes once more.

Andromeda sipped her tea. “Ted and I have something of a plan.”

“Oh?” Sirius ran a cautious hand along Spot’s back. She preened, arched, then settled down with a contented pur.

“Have you heard of the Slug Club?”

Sirius pulled a face. “I got an invitation at the start of term, but it was… er, _revoked_ almost immediately. Slughorn didn’t like that I’d fessed up to that whole mess with Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express.”

Andromeda hummed sympathetically. “No, he wouldn’t. He’s all about amassing power and talent, collecting the brightest wizards of the age under his fat, little thumb. He wouldn’t like a snitch amongst the ranks, especially one who is more loyal to someone else other than him. Such a person is dangerous to a man like Slughorn.”

“Makes sense why I was uninvited, then.”

Andromeda shrugged. “Are you decent at potions?”

“I’m fucking phenomenal at potions,” Sirius said, puffing up his chest a little. “Or, well, when I’m not always fixing Remus’s mistakes. He says everything smells funny and he can’t concentrate.”

“Good,” she said. “That’s good.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes, confused. “Why, exactly, is that good?”

“Ted and I were both in the Slug Club. Me, well, because I’m a Black, and Ted because he’s a goddamned prodigy in potions. Slughorn even made a donation when Ted announced he was going to open his apothecary. ‘Course, now that means that Ted gives ol’ Sluggy the first choice of all the potions ingredients from his suppliers, but that’s besides the point.”

“All right,” Sirius said, slowly, waiting for her to get to the point.

“Slughorn has every reason to want you in the Club, even if he thinks you’re a snitch and more loyal to your friends than to him or your family. You’re still a Black. More specifically, you’re the _heir_. With a little prompting, I’m absolutely positive me and Ted could convince Slughorn to send you another invite.”

Sirius frowned. He didn’t particularly want to be part of any club that only wanted him for his name and station, let alone one run by the Head of Slytherin. “Okay, but what would that—”

“Slughorn has a Christmas party every year,” Andromeda said, with a conspiratorial smirk on her face. She took another sip of her tea. “It’s exclusive. Prestigious. He only takes the best. Narcissa got her first invite this year, even though she’s been in the Slug Club since her first year.”

Sirius’s eyes widened as the pieces started to fall into place.“You’re saying that—”

“If Ted and I can convince Slughorn to send you an invite, there’s a chance that the Warden will let you stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. It’ll be an honour. Might earn you some brownie points with your mum and dad.”

“Not enough to make them forget I’m a Gryffindor,” Sirius muttered.

“But maybe just enough to let you stay,” Andromeda countered. “It might be putting of the inevitable, Siri, but it’ll buy you some time. You can’t go home now. Not while that incident with Malfoy is fresh in their minds. I won’t let—”

Her voice took on a desperate edge and she choked a little. She knew what that meant for him just as much as he did.

Andromeda swallowed past the apparent lump in her throat. “I think this’ll work, Siri. I’ve got to at least try.”

He nodded, slowly, honestly taken aback by the ferocity in her eyes. No one had ever—

That is… Merlin.

No one had ever been this desperate to save him. He loved her for it.

“Alright, ‘Dromeda,” he said. “It’s worth a try.”

Something dangerous… something as horrifying as _hope_ began to swirl in the pit of his stomach. It was such an unfamiliar feeling that he almost didn’t recognise it.

A wild and wicked smile cracked across Andromeda’s face and her silver eyes twinkled just a little. “Perfect. Ted and I will write a few letters and send them off tonight. Do you think it’s too much I refer to you as ‘the shining star on the Black family tree’?”

“Merlin,” Sirius groaned, felling his cheeks flush pink. “I’m not sure Slughorn would appreciate poetry.”

She laughed. “No, I suppose not. I’ll be sure to mention the wandless magic, though. A man like Slughorn will salivate at power and skill like that. Has he seen you do any of it yet?”

Sirius frowned. He glanced down at his hands, a few sparks of magic jumping between his fingers as he stroked Spot. He rarely thought about his wandless magic, if he was honest. It was just… _natural_ to him, by now. Like breathing. More often than not, he found himself forgetting that wandless magic didn’t come naturally to most wizards. Objectively, of course, he knew it was rare. His mother, with all her bragging, had solidified that fact in his mind years ago. He knew his skill and precision, in particular, were practically unheard of, especially for his age.

For the most part, Sirius chalked it up to his bloodline and his years of boredom in Grimmauld Place, with nothing to do to pass the long hours between beatings and lectures but practice twirling that incessant _pull_ of his own magic between his fingers until it did something productive.

To him, wandless magic was _ordinary._

Like fucking breathing.

He hardly took his wand anywhere these days, but he couldn’t say anyone had really _noticed_ —outside of his friends and Lily Evans and maybe the Prewetts—other than McGonagall. She watched him like a hawk in Transfiguration, ready to tell him off if he so much as _thought_ about trying a spell without using his wand. Given that the spells he did with his wand _always_ backfired, Sirius was half-convinced that, at this point, McGonagall just liked watching things quite literally blow up in his face.

“No,” Sirius said, after a moment. “Slughorn hasn’t seen it. No one has, really. Or no one’s noticed.”

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. “I guarantee you that the Slytherins have noticed. Malfoy’s noticed. No one can do the things you can without a wand, Sirius, except maybe Dumbledore, and I doubt even Dumbledore could at your age.”

Well. That opened the door to a whole slew of questions Sirius had never even considered about himself.

He’d never bothered questioning his magic before. It was just… natural.

He was starting to realise that maybe he didn’t want to think about it. If it had anything to do with his bloodline, the answers were probably Dark.

“It’ll intrigue Slughorn, at the very least,” Andromeda said, completely oblivious to how fast Sirius’s heart was beating. “You’d make a shiny new addition to his collection.”

“Great,” Sirius muttered. But if it kept him from Grimmauld over the holidays… He swallowed the swirling questions and managed a smile. Barely, because—

There was another question, burning the back of his tongue, that he’d waited to ask her for months and months, one that he wasn’t certain he actually wanted to hear the answer, but…

“Andromeda?” he said, and Merlin, his voice sounded small.

“Yeah?”

“How long have you and Ted been together?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it, rephrase it, or broach the subject from another angle, because _Merlin_. That was not the right question.

“Officially? Since sixth year. Friends since about third. Don’t tell my mum, though. Not that you would.” She stopped, then narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Just… wondering.” Fuck. It really shouldn’t be this difficult, but—

Sirius was terrified of the answer.

Andromeda gave him an unimpressed look. “Ask the question, Sirius.”

Merlin, she was good. Slytherin to the core.

“How do you and Ted…” Sirius made a vague hand gesture. “Y’know.”

“I’m not explaining the birds and bees to you, Sirius.”

Sirius groaned in frustration. “No. Merlin, no. That’s not what I meant.”

She smirked. “I know.”

His eyes snapped up to meet hers. “You… know?”

Of course she did.

“You want to know how I can touch Ted Tonks when he’s Muggle-born and I have this handy-dandy magic tattoo right above my heart.”

“I… Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why—” She smirked at him, something he didn’t quite recognise dancing in her eyes. “—do you want to know?”

“I—”

_Because I can’t touch any of my friends. Because I can’t shake their hands, or clap them on the back, or hug them when they’re sad or in pain. Because walking through the halls is one of the worst thing I’ve experienced and I can’t let anyone know how much it fucking hurts me._

_Because every time I touch Remus Lupin, I think the pain’s going to burn me alive._

Sirius swallowed around the lump in his throat and forced his voice to be calm. “Because you found a way around the tattoo. And I want to know how.”

This time, a strange wariness flashed across her face. “It’s… It’s not as simple as that, Siri. To fight a curse like that, you’ve got to be willing to do the same kind of magic.”

Sirius felt his blood run cold. “You mean… The cure… It’s Dark?”

“It’s not a cure,” she said, slowly. “Ted’s the _only_ one I can touch that’s not pure-blood. It’s a blood-binding, a long and complicated ritual and it’s… Sirius, it’s permanent and forever and no, it’s not Dark, but it’s more powerful than you can fucking imagine and I—”

She pulled up short.

“What?” he prompted, needing to hear her finish the thought.

She grimaced. “It’s not anything that can be taken lightly, Sirius. It’s not something you can do just so you can be closer to your friends. It doesn’t work like that.”

“But you and Ted did it.” Merlin, his voice sounded small and pleading, like a fucking child.

“Because Ted and I are forever,” she said, like it was that simple. “We have been, since the very day I met him.”

And Sirius nodded, because he understood. Because that was what he needed to hear, even if it shattered any hope he might have had for a way around the tattoo.

A blood-binding. Forever. That was a hell of a lot to ask of anyone.

“Thanks, Andromeda. I… Just… Thanks.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more.” She gave him a warm smile. “Happy birthday, Sirius.”

“You’ve given me a chance, at Christmas. And… answers,” he said, returning the smile. “That’s more than enough.”

On his lap, Spot yawned, and stretched, digging her claws into Sirius’s thigh before hopping down. Silently, he cursed the stupid creature. That fucking _hurt_.

Spot yawned again, then curled up on top of his feet.

Andromeda finished her tea and cast a _Timus_. “Merlin, I’d better get going. I told Ted I’d man the register for the afternoon crowd.”

“Ted has an afternoon crowd? At an apothecary? What, in Merlin’s name, is he selling?”

Andromeda laughed and shoved his shoulder. “I should hope he has an afternoon crowd, because he was closed all morning.” At Sirius’s tilted head and raised eyebrow, she continued. “Merlin, Siri, we were up half the night last night. Ted’s shop is on the northern edge of Hogsmeade, right? There’s this Shack, just up the hill, and the _noises_. People are saying it’s haunted, but you’d have thought someone was being disemboweled in there.”

“The Shrieking Shack?” Sirius asked.

“Yeah, that’s the one. You’ve heard of it?”

“Dumbledore mentioned it at the welcome feast. He said some nasty spirits took up residence or something.”

“Nasty’s an understatement,” Andromeda muttered, standing and gathering her cloak. She paused, her face scrunched up a bit. “Thing is, ghosts exist everywhere, right? They’re all over Hogwarts, but they’re hardly ever _violent_ , not even the Bloody Baron or Nearly Headless Nick, who both have more than enough cause to be bitter and cruel in the afterlife. But mostly they’re just—I don’t know— _bored_ with the prospect of eternity. Vengeance and violence don’t seem to matter much when you don’t have a body anymore.”

“So… You don’t think the Shrieking Shack’s haunted.” Sirius said. It was more of a statement than a question.

“I don’t know if it’s a ghost or a monster or a bloody serial killer,” Andromeda said, drawing out her words. “I just think that whatever’s in the Shrieking Shack, it’s in more pain than any creature, living or dead, could possibly imagine. And I think it breaks my heart, just a little, for anyone to be in that much pain.”

Sirius couldn’t get her words out of his head for the entire trek back to the castle.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

**NOVEMBER 4, 1971**

 

“Sirius? Christ, Sirius wake up!”

Someone smacked him in the face with a pillow and Sirius nearly leapt out of his skin.

Remus scrambled to the other side of the bed, deftly dodging Sirius’s flaying limbs, using a spare pillow as a shield between them.

“Fuck,” Sirius muttered, his heart still in his throat. Whether from the nightmare or the abrupt wakeup call, he couldn’t tell. “What time is it?”

“Around three,” Remus said, lowering the pillow and cautiously settling back against the headboard. There was a faint glow, peeking through the hangings on Sirius’s bed from the almost-full moon looming outside the window. Remus wore pyjamas, a pinstriped, button up top and matching pants.He had a nick across the bridge of his nose and gauze bandages around his wrists poked out from beneath both sleeves, causing them to bunch a little at the cuffs. Two of his fingers on his left hand were taped together, from knuckle to nail, the tips just a little bit purple.

Merlin, Sirius felt every scrape, every bruise, every damn broken finger as if it were his own, because how could anyone keep sending a kid like Remus—wonderful, perfect, kind-beyond-all-logic Remus—home when he comes back looking like that?

Sirius was going to tear whoever did this in _half_. He swore it on every beautiful freckle on Remus’s face.

But maybe not tonight.

Sirius scrubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry.” He squinted at Remus in the almost-darkness. In the dull light, Sirius could make out the bags under his eyes. “When did you get back?”

Remus didn’t respond for a long moment and Sirius almost believed he’d fallen asleep sitting up or forgotten or maybe Remus had miraculously decided they weren’t going to talk about the fact that Sirius was having one hell of a nightmare until about forty four seconds ago, but then: “You were talking in your sleep.”

Fuck.

“That…” Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. “That happens sometimes.”

Remus’s voice sounded small in the dark. “Is... All that. It’s really going to happen, isn’t it? When you go home.”

Sirius, despite his still-thumping heart and the tangy taste of blood in his mouth from where he’d undoubtedly bit his tongue in his sleep—and, well, maybe it wasn’t all just Remus’s pain he felt tonight—because he wracked his brain for the remnants of his nightmare, desperate to figure out what Remus could have heard, but then—

It didn’t matter. It was all the same, anyway.

His mother and her wand pointed at him and curses and Kreacher and _pain pain pain_.

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remind himself that he was awake.

Safe. Here, with Remus Lupin.

Safe.

“If history’s any indication,” he muttered, “if I go home, I’m royally fucked.”

He could see it, plain as day, in Remus’s eyes. Remus Lupin, of all people, knew what that meant.

Remus settled into the space beside him, nestled as close to Sirius as the pillow between them would allow, a warm and lingering presence that was more comfort than Sirius would care to admit to anyone.

“‘If you go home’?” Remus asked, quietly, and maybe there was a note of forbidden hope in his voice.

“Andromeda has a plan,” Sirius said, and he quickly reiterated the conversation from Hagrid’s hut.

“Do you think it’ll work?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius whispered, because, honestly, he hadn’t allowed himself to think about it much outside of his conversation with Andromeda.

Hope was a dangerous thing and, Merlin knows, it was so easily extinguished. There were so many factors at play: Andromeda, Ted, Slughorn, his mother. The inevitably cruel hand of fate that seemed to have it in for him.

Finding an impossible hope, then having it snuffed out… It was enough to make any sane person dangerous.

A thing like that… It would break Sirius Black in two, and he knew it. He felt it in his bones.

Sirius knew what it would cost him if he allowed himself to _hope_.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

That lasted until breakfast.

Sirius—who was certainly not accustomed to receiving letters, unless he was expecting something from Andromeda—glanced up from his tea to see a large, grumpy owl deposit a neatly-folded letter right on top of his toast. After a raised eyebrow from a barely-conscious Remus and a somewhat confused frown from James, Sirius shooed the bird away and flicked off the little bits of jam from the corners of the envelope. He broke the seal.

 

_Mr. Black,_

 

_It seems, rather, that you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot. Regardless of that business with Lucius Malfoy and the Potter boy, I have found you to be an exceptional student in my classes. I hear from your other professors that you possess an above average intelligence and a strong proclivity towards magic. It doesn’t surprise me, given your family. I’ve never known a Black to shirk in their pursuits, magical or otherwise._

_To demonstrate my heartfelt apologies and perhaps to turn over a new leaf between us, I would like to cordially invite you to a little Christmas gathering I’m hosting in my office over the holidays. First years are hardly ever in attendance at my Christmas gatherings, but it would be my honour to see you seated amongst your peers and two of your classmates who’ve also garnered an invitation._

 

_Best regards,_

_Professor Horace Slughorn_

 

Sirius read the letter through twice, just to make sure he hadn’t made it up.

This was a way out.

It’d fucking _worked_.

He felt the smile spread across his face.

“Sirius?” Remus asked, his eyes flicking to the letter as he sipped his tea.

He passed the letter to Remus. James crowded close to read over Remus’s shoulder.

Something like triumph danced in Remus’s eyes when he looked up. “Andromeda?” he asked.

“Seems like,” Sirius said, and _Merlin_ , hope never tasted so sweet. Who cared if it was dangerous? He’d _won_!

“I can’t believe this!” James said, emphatically, snatching the letter from Remus’s hands to read it more closely. “He’s _apologising_ to _you!”_

“Yeah, well,” Sirius said, casually. “‘Dromeda reminded Slughorn that I’m a Black and that I’m something of a prodigy. Slughorn collects prodigies, you see, so—”

“He _apologised_ to you and now is begging you to come to his Christmas dinner. He’s a goddamned kiss-arse!”

“You’d be surprised how many people would leap at the chance to kiss my arse, Potter. You’ll have to wait your turn.” James made a face that so clearly said _Not in a million years, Black_. Sirius barked a laugh. “Besides. It keeps me here.”

The annoyance washed out of James’s face at that and he changed tactics. “Yes, well, if I’d known that all we had to do is mention your name or prestige and all the professors will fall at your feet—”

“Except McGonagall,” Peter cut in, helpfully.

“—Except McGonagall, I’d have been taking advantage of you since the day we met, Black.”

Part of Sirius wanted to call bullshit, because James had _hated_ him for his name, just as McGonagall still did, but he wasn’t going to ruin the high he was feeling at not having to return to Grimmauld Place.

”I wonder who the other two first years who got an invite are,” Peter said, now leaning over the table to read the letter that was still clasped in James’s hand.

“It’s got to be Remus,” James said, slinging his free arm over Remus’s shoulders. “His cauldron only exploded _once_ last week. That’s gotta be a record. Certainly something to get him on Slughorn’s radar.”

Remus groaned and buried his head in his hands.

“Lily got one,” Marlene McKinnon said, unashamedly butting into their conversation. She shuffled closer, sandwiching Peter against Remus across from Sirius. Marlene eyed him closely, before, after a moment, he forked over the letter. Marlene stroked her green beard as she read, in a way that uncomfortably reminded Sirius of Dumbledore, when he was pontificating.

Dorcas Meadows peered over, resting her own purple beard—Merlin, this was getting out of hand—on Marlene’s shoulder.

“Yeah, she got it this morning,” Dorcas Meadows said.

“Sirius, can you get me an invitation?” James asked, his eyes on Sirius wide and pleading.

Ordinarily, this was the point in the conversation where Lily Evans appeared and dumped pumpkin juice on James Potter’s head.

Ignoring James completely, Sirius leaned over his place and glanced down the table. “Where is Evans?”

Dorcas swallowed and gestured in the vague direction of Gryffindor tower. “She went up to the common room. She got another letter from her—”

Marlene elbowed her in the ribs. They exchanged a hard look and something passed between them, an acknowledged truth, a story to stick to.

“She’s in the common room, but she wants to be left alone right now,” Marlene said.

James’s eyes nearly leapt out of his head. He started to get to his feet, but Remus’s firm grip on his arm yanked him back down. “Why? Is she okay? What happened? Lily, is she all right? What—”

Remus clamped a hand over James’s mouth, much to everyone’s relief.

Sirius, in a much more calm and reasonable voice, said, “What’s wrong?”

Another silent conversation passed between Marlene and Dorcas, this one including vague hand gestures and frustrated glares, culminating in Dorcas shoving her palm in Marlene’s face. Marlene grumbled something about surrender, then, with an eye-roll, Dorcas said to Sirius, “You can go.” Her gaze cut to James and turned icy cold. The effect was only slightly less intimidating with the purple beard. “But _only_ Sirius.”

Sirius stood, pushed back the bench, and was out the door before he saw Remus deposit Peter into James’s lap in order to keep James put.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

Sirius thought the common room was empty when he crawled through the portrait hole. He turned right, ready to brave the impossible stairs that led to the girls’ dorms, when he heard a faint sob.

He spun on his heel.

Lily sat cross-legged on the floor, by the hearth. Her shoulders were haunched and shook every time she sobbed. Bright red hair curtained her face, a few strands sticking to her cheeks.

Sirius walked over, slowly and silently, and sat down across from her.

She sniffed, then hastily wiped her face. “Christ,” she muttered. “Didn’t even hear you come in.”

Lily fussed with her hair and wiped her cheeks again with the sleeves of her robe, trying to appear presentable.

Sirius ducked his head a bit to catch her eye. “You don’t have to stop crying just because I’m here, Evans. I don’t give a shit if you cry.”

He’d known her for a little more than two months, and she’d already seen him have most of a meltdown. Even if he was the shittiest person in the world, he’d never hold a few tears against her.

Bright green eyes met his, wide and tear-stained, searching his soul for any hint of duplicity. She sniffed again, but did not cry. “Why are you here, Sirius?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t feel like sitting through breakfast.”

Lily didn’t buy it. “Dee sent you?”

Another shrug. “If it makes you feel any better, Marlene didn’t seem too happy about it.”

“It does, actually.”

Lily was quiet for a moment, inhaling and exhaling deep breaths, her eyes trained towards her lap instead of at Sirius. There was a crumpled letter resting on her legs. It was paper, instead of parchment, and looked like it had been torn directly out of a larger book of some kind. The ink was blue, the handwriting large and ostentatious, and so slanted that Sirius didn’t even try to make out the words upside down.

Sirius shuffled a little, reaching for words of comfort, but he didn’t have any. Merlin, he was shit at this. Why was all this so much easier with Remus?

After a long silence, he made a vague gesture at the letter, and forced himself to ask, “Your family?”

Her nose scrunched up a little. “Yeah. How’d you—”

“Because everyone tries to hide the pain caused by their families,” he said, the words coming out before he has a chance to really think. Lily’s eyes went wide and he knew he’d guessed that much right, at least. He let out a breath, then, while pointedly touching a finger to the spot over his heart and the horrible words hidden beneath his robes, Sirius said, “They’re supposed to love you, take care of you, but… It doesn’t always work out like that, does it?”

Lily shook her head, slowly, side to side, her eyes never leaving his. Merlin, he almost hated how she did that, how she looked at him like she’s the goddamned cartographer of his madness and insecurities. His skin prickled, because when Lily Evans looked at him like that, it meant that she’d figured him out, knew every fucking thing about him, every dark secret and silent tragedy.

It terrified him and he wanted to hate her for seeing right through him, but—

There was a small part of him that was fucking relieved.

If she’d figured him out, he’d never have to say his secrets out loud.

Then she smiled, her lips quirking up in a wry smile, and it was acknowledgement and understanding and _absolution_ and all the things he was certain he didn’t deserve, because this wasn’t about him, goddamnit. 

“Yeah,” she said, gesturing to the letter and yanking him right back to the moment. “It’s my sister. Petunia.”

Sirius barked a laugh, and it was out of place and ill-fitting, but he couldn’t stop it. “Petunia is a stupid name.”

The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it was there, just a twinge of her lip, a tug at the freckles on her cheek, just enough to let him know that she appreciated his attempt to make her feel better.

“She’s older than me by four years and she’s always been a bit… _much_ ,” Lily said, after a moment. “She’s very proud, always worried about what everyone else thinks about us. She’s so much like my mum, in that. It was just how they were, Petunia especially. Staunch, and uptight, but kind, deep down. That is until…”

Lily trailed off as a tear trailed down her cheek. She caught it, just as it reached the tip of her nose, and she looked at her fingers like she was surprised to see them wet.

Sirius had an inexplicable urge to reach out and grab her hand, make her forget about the stray tear, or maybe wrap her in a hug and let her cry properly, but he couldn’t.

So he didn’t.

And he felt horrible about it.

“Did you know that Dumbledore hand-delivers Hogwarts letters to Muggle-born first years?” she asked.

Sirius shook his head, his eyes wide, because he hand’t.

“It makes sense, really,” Lily said, in a voice that oozed practicality. “What a shock, right? Imagine being perfectly ordinary parents, with perfectly ordinary children, until one day, a fucking _bird_ shows up with a letter and promises admittance to a special school of magic.”

Sirius almost got lost in the image of it all: a world without magic, growing up without owl post and magical tutors and tomes upon tomes of ancient, magical books. “That had to be so—”

“Boring?” Lily supplied, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “Mundane? Monotonous?”

“No, Merlin,” Sirius muttered, then searched desperately for the right word, before she could fill in the blank for him again.

A world without magic wasn’t something he could properly comprehend.

Sirius didn’t rememberer his own first experience with magic. If his mother’s braggart stories were to be believed, he’d summoned more food to his plate before his first birthday. His magic ebbed and flowed from his hands as easily as breathing. He could feel it, too, flowing through his veins, every second of every day. It felt like life itself, wild and phenomenal, all at once. It wasn’t something he could even fathom living without. Or even… not knowing it was there.

“Inexplicable,” he decided, because that was the best word for it.

And Lily gave him a look like… like she was almost proud of him.

“So, Dumbledore shows up and explains it all,” Lily continued. “Asks if I’ve ever done anything _special_ or extraordinary and then starts explaining magic to my perfectly ordinary parents. And Petunia.”

“But not to you?” Sirius asked, gently.

Lily shook her head. “I knew what I was. Severus—” Sirius pulled a face at the mention of Snape, but at Lily’s glare, forced his features back to neutral. “Severus explained it all to me a few months before Dumbledore came. He said I was magic and would get a wand and go to Hogwarts, just like him. He always said I was special and he told Petunia off for calling me a freak.”

And, Merlin, what a thought that was. _This_ , all of this—his _entire_ world—was all so new to her. He tried to imagine the grandiose sense of wonder that she must have felt when she’d found out, when she realised she wasn’t like everything else.

He wondered what she thought when she’d first seen the ceiling in the Great Hall. Auclair said it was meant to mesmerise the lower-borns.What had it been like when she’d seen the stars from inside the castle for the first time?

What had it been like when she’d first tasted magic?

He had a more difficult time trying to imagine _Snape_ explaining it to her.

“Oh,” was all he could manage.

“My dad was thrilled. Even my mum played nice,” Lily said. A ghost of a smile flashed across her face, before disappearing so fast Sirius wasn’t quite sure it’d really been there in the first place. “You should’ve seen my dad shaking Dumbledore’s hand. You’d have thought he was the Prime Minister or something.”

Lily’s fingers tightened around the letter and her eyes filled up with tears. “After Dumbledore left, though, Petunia let loose. She called me a freak and an abomination and kept saying that magic was unnatural and _unholy_.”

“Unholy?!” he asked, because of all the words that could be used to describe magic, _unholy_ seemed… blasphemous.

_Unholy_. Because, really, it didn’t get more fucked up than that. Anyone else—Muggle, or Squib, or fucking vampire—would _kill_ for just the slightest _taste_ of a witch or wizard’s magic. It couldn’t be _unholy_ , this itch that was buried under his skin, under Lily’s skin, under the skin of any and every witch or wizard that had ever held a wand.

Magic was like _fucking_ breathing.

She nodded, swallowing something of a sob that threatened to bubble over. “Petunia and Mum can be religious, when it suits them. Not enough to go to church every Sunday—or even on Easter or Christmas, really—but just enough to call down the wrath of God in order to prove a point.” She paused, then met Sirius’s eyes, and deadpanned: “Witchcraft invokes the power of the devil.”

“Really?” Sirius asked, deciding that was probably the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “If I’d’ve known that, I’d have summoned the armies of darkness to torment my mother ages ago. Thanks for the tip.”

This earned him the laugh and the eye roll he’d been hoping for.

Lily wiped her eyes. “My dad managed to move the conversation away from fire and brimstone, eventually, but Petunia refused to speak to me, even right before I left.”

“Merlin,” he said, half under his breath.

“What?” Lily prompted, a wary of the expression flickering in the depths of her eyes. “If you’re about to say something nasty about my family, then you have another thing coming, Sirius Black, because—”

“No!” He held up his hands in surrender. “No. I just… I never realized that the prejudice went both ways.”

Because _Salazar’s balls_ , what a thought that was. Petunia Evans hated Lily for her magic, same as Walburga Black would hate Lily for the exact same reason. They’d both call Lily unclean, unnatural, a freak of nature. Mudblood. One hated out of spite and envy, then called it _unholy_ out of convenience, because Lily Evans had something that her sister could never even dream of possessing. The other’s hatred was more sinister, perhaps, because it was rooted in an ancient repository of superiority complexes, ideals of purity, and centuries of conditioned malice.

He’d never thought it would come to this: that someone could be hated in the way that Lily Evans was. By her family, by her world, by _his_ world, attacked and berated on all sides simply because she has magic in her veins same as him.

A fire gurgled in his belly, something just a little bit dangerous and ready to ignite in the face of injustice.

Lily Evans didn’t deserve this.

She watched him closely, cataloging the emotions that flashed in his eyes, that manifest by the clenching and unclenching of his fists. Without saying anything, she handed over the tear-stained paper.

 

_Lily_ ,

 

_Mum and Dad asked me to convey their elation and approval that you’ve been invited to attend the magical ball hosted by your school over the coming holidays. They regret that you’ll be unable to come home for Christmas, but understand that you’ve made new friends and would greatly prefer to spend time with your own kind. Dad said to be sure to inform you that they’ve put a gift for you in the post, but we’re not quite sure if it’ll reach you before Christmas, if ever, given that it’s not being delivered by way of one of those ridiculous birds._

_Of course, I know that there is no ball over the holidays, but I thought it best if you_ not _come home. Mum’s having guests over and, well, there’s really no need to frighten Gran with your incessant little parlour tricks. It would really put a damper on things here, and we can’t have the neighbours thinking you’re off to a school for troubled children or something. Mum and Dad have a sort of standing in this community and, well, frankly, you put all that in jeopardy with all your talk of magic and unnatural things._

_I expect there’ll be some function or other you’ll have to attend over Easter as well. So, we will not be seeing you until the summer holidays. And when you do come home, I expect that you will not bore us to death with excessive talk about your school or unholy practices._

 

_Petunia_

 

The word _unholy_ had been underlined three times.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said, his voice thick with building emotion. “No one should ever have the right to say those things to you. Not Malfoy, or the Slytherins, or your own goddamned sister.”

Merlin, because if Regulus said that sort of thing to him, Sirius was fairly certain he’d drop dead on the spot.

Lily took the letter back from him, tossed it unceremoniously into the hearth, then flicked her wand at it. The letter disintegrated in a quick burst of flame.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Lily mumbled. “I’ve written my parents every week since I arrived at Hogwarts. Long letters, too, explaining all the things that they’ll never be able to understand or see but—” She sniffed, again, then wiped her cheeks. “This is the first time I’ve heard from any of them.”

“Do your mum and dad feel the same way Petunia does about magic?” Sirius asked.

Lily shook her head. “My dad doesn’t. He was _so_ excited when Dumbledore came. But, my mum… I think she’s the same as Petunia, except she won’t even risk writing it down or saying it out loud. That would mean acknowledging the fact that I’m a witch.”

Her eyes turned to the smouldering remains of Petunia’s letter. “I thought by writing them, they’d come to understand it all better, maybe see how _happy_ and natural this is for me. It’s… Except for Severus, I’ve never met anyone _like_ me before. Hogwarts feels like home to me.” She managed a small smile. “Even if I’m constantly fending off Potter’s marriage proposals.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “He _was_ ready to storm Gryffindor tower when he heard you were upset.”

“Well, thank you for stopping him. I’m not sure I could tolerate James Potter at the moment.”

“Thank Remus,” Sirius said. “He forced Peter to give James a lap dance and provided me with ample opportunity to escape.”

She laughed. “Oh, Christ, I think I would’ve paid to see that.”

“It was quite the sight,” he said, more for the benefit of her imagination, given that he hadn’t stayed long enough to really see it either. He leaned forward a bit, hands on his knees, a wicked smirk creeping up his face. “Now. We must begin planing for mischief making over Christmas, Evans. It’s the only thing left to do.”

A look of surprise flashed across her face. “Wha— _We?!”_

“Didn’t I mention? I’m staying at Hogwarts. Officially. As of half an hour ago.”

“Really? Remus said—”

“I’m really staying,” Sirius said, elated to be able to say those words aloud. “Slughorn invited me to some dinner thing, so now I’m obligated to—”

“Wait,” Lily said, waving a hand in his face. “ _You’re_ in the Slug Club?”

“Surprised, Evans?” He laughed a little at her expression, because, yes, she was. “Well, with a little nudging from my cousin, plus a lot of emphasis placed on me being the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Slughorn invited me to his Christmas gathering.”

“I thought there we were the only two first years who—”

It was Sirius’s turn to be surprised. “ _We_?! Who—Oh, shit.”

“Yup.”

“Oh, Merlin, no.”

“Oh, Merlin, _yes_.” Lily had a ridiculous smirk plastered on her face. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and handed Sirius a piece of parchment bearing the same seal as the one in his own pocket. “Severus and me. We were invited last week. I wasn’t going to go, but now I suppose I ought to.”

Sirius pouted. “Are you telling me that I went through all that to avoid seeing my horrible mother just to be stuck sitting next to Snape on Christmas?”

“Seems like.” Lily gave him a hard look. “I know what you think of him, Sirius Black, and it’s… It’s not entirely fair. He’s kind to me, and he’s my friend. He was all I had, until a few months ago, and now…” She paused, a shadow of pain flickering across her face. “He hardly speaks to me outside of class.”

Sirius grimaced, remembering Snape’s mortified face when he’d blurted, “I’m in love with Lily Evans!”

“That may be _partially_ my fault,” he said, rather quietly, because the truth was, even if Snape was embarrassed by the result of the Hiccuping Secrets, Snape still had whatever agreement he’d made with Malfoy for his own protection to contend with. Malfoy wouldn’t approve of Snape’s friendship or childhood crush on a Muggle-born. But, instead of voicing all this, Sirius said, “But at least his hair grew back.”

She gave him a look that said she’d very much like to throw something at him, or maybe punch him in the stomach again. “You should know, part of me is still furious with you for making him tell the whole school he’s in love with me.”

“I didn’t mean to get you involved,” he said, earnestly, because it was the only thing he could say.

Lily heaved a sigh, like her chest suddenly had a thousand pounds resting on it. “It was only a matter of time, I suppose. I had a bit of a hunch that he felt that way, but I...”

She trailed off into nothing.

“Do… Do _you_ feel that way?” Sirius asked, absolutely hating the image in his head of Lily Evans being swept off her feet by Severus Snape.

This time, she did punch him, right in the knee-cap, because it was the only thing she could reach.

“Ow!”

“Sorry. Sorry,” she muttered, scooting a bit out of reach, just to assure him that she wouldn’t be touching him again any time soon. “But, _ew_. No. No fucking way. He’s my friend, Black. That’d be like me having a crush on _you_.”

Sirius’s nose wrinkled up. “Ugh, that’s horrible.”

Lily made a noise that Sirius took to mean that she was also equally disgusted by both prospects. After a moment, her face smoothed out again.

“So,” she said. “Christmas?”

“Christmas,” he agreed. “You, me, and Snape. It’ll be a laugh.”

She waved a very threatening finger in his face. “You’ll be _civil_ to him, Sirius Black. Or I swear I’ll—”

“All right, all right. I promise.” Sirius crossed his finger over his heart to prove his point. He leaned back a little, grinning. “It’ll be nice, though. You and me. King and Queen of Gryffindor tower. At least for the holidays.”

“We’ve established that I’m not going to be your fucking _queen_. How about I duel you for the title of king?”

“You’re on, Evans.”

Sirius leapt to his feet, his magic sparking. Lily reached behind her and chucked a throw pillow at him.

“Not _now_ , you berk. We have Transfiguration.”

“Correction. We’re _late_ for Transfiguration.” He cast a _Timus_ to prove his point. “Let’s skip and settle this right now.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “McGonagall hates you, Sirius. She might literally kill you if you skive off Transfiguration.” 

“Brave of you to assume she won’t still kill me if I show up late.”

Lily groaned and got to her feet, drawing her wand.

“Fine. Do your worst, Black.”

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

“Oi! Where the hell have you been?” James shouted as he and Peter exited the Transfiguration classroom amidst a swarm of first year Hufflepuffs.

James stopped dead in the middle of the hall when he caught sight of Lily Evans, standing with her chin held high next to Sirius, a crown of yellow lilies woven into her hair. Sirius had stolen them from the greenhouse on the way here and used a little bit of magic to twist them into a crown.

Remus, who had his nose buried in a book, rammed into James from behind, and his book clattered to the floor. “Christ, James, you—”

Remus’s eyes landed on Sirius and Lily.

James, for his part, had started to drool.

Lily directed a very pointed look at Sirius’s forehead that probably would have liquified his brain if she suddenly got laser eyes.

Sirius cleared his throat, then swept his arm out in a wide gesture at Lily. “I, Sirius Black, appointed herald of Her Majesty, the King, present to you, the Marauders of House Gryffindor, Lily…”

He paused. He didn’t know her middle name.

“Josephine,” she supplied, with a cut nod.

Sirius managed to curtail his reaction, deciding it would be best to unpack that later.

“… Lily Josephine Evans, King of Gryffindor.”

“ _King_?!” Peter squeaked.

James, of course, had the exact opposite response. He fell to his knees, the moron. “Your Majesty,” he said, a beatific expression plastered on his face.

“Oh, get up,” Lily snapped. She tilted her chin up once more, reasserting her regal pose and voice. “James Potter, should you ever kneel before me again, I shall have you flogged—”

Sirius snorted. “He might enjoy that.”

Lily immediately flushed bright red, nearly the colour of her hair, and Merlin, Sirius couldn’t hold back his laughter, even when she thwacked him with her book.

James, for his part, looked helplessly confused.

“Don’t worry, Jamie,” Sirius teased. “Remus will explain it to you when you’re older.”

Remus’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “I most certainly will _not_.”

“James Potter,” Lily said again, her voice a pitch or two higher and her face still brilliantly red, “I forbid any sort of ridiculous behaviour from you. And… and you’ll not speak to me for the rest of the day—week! Month? No, week—unless I address you directly.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” James said, solemnly, and honestly, Sirius hadn’t expected him to agree to all that.

“Your Majesty?” Remus said, nudging James aside with his shoulder. There was a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips. “How is it you came to hold such a noble title?”

“Yeah,” said Peter, petulantly. “I thought _we_ were the kings of Gryffindor.”

“You’ve been usurped,” Lily said. “Sirius lost a duel.”

Peter’s jaw dropped. He turned to Sirius. “ _You_ lost? You? You mean you let her win, right?”

“I did not!” Sirius said, indignity.

“Come off it,” Peter said, dismissively. “You threw Snape across the hall and nearly sliced Malfoy in half. How could you lose to a—”

“Peter! That’s no way to talk about your king,” Remus snapped, smacking him upside the head before Sirius could enact the murder plot he’d been planning in his head ever since Peter threw out Malfoy’s name. That wasn’t a chapter in his life that he was particularly proud of, nor did he appreciate it when it was casually brought up in conversation.

“Yes, but how—”

“I’m shit at wandless defensive charms,” Sirius growled. “She knocked me on my arse, fair and square.”

Lily grinned triumphantly, seemingly choosing to ignore Peter’s line of questioning.

“‘Bout time someone knocked you on your arse,” Remus said, but he tossed a wink at Sirius, and his voice was light.

“Mr. Lupin, a—”

Five heads turned just as McGonagall appeared in the doorway.

“Oh, shit,” muttered Sirius. Then, to Lily: “Told you we just should’ve met them in Potions.”

“I wanted to inform my subjects of my ascension to the throne,” she muttered back, out of the corner of her mouth.

McGonagall just glared at them and Sirius wondered just how much of their conversation she’d overheard.

“Evans. Black.” McGonagall said _Black_ like it was some annoying fur ball caught in her throat. “I didn’t see you in class.”

Sirius said, “We had a prior commitment,” at the same time, Lily Josephine Evans said, “We’ll see you in detention tonight, Professor.”

Sirius turned to gape at Lily, utterly betrayed.

McGonagall’s expression gave nothing away. “Very well.” Then, with a pointed glare at Sirius, McGonagall added: “Your Majesty.”

Lily Josephine Evans preened like a fucking peacock. All hail the King of Gryffindor.

Sirius was torn between lashing out at McGonagall, with cries of injustice and accusations of favouritism, and falling on his knees at Lily’s feet like James fucking Potter and begging her to teach him her maniacal, Minerva McGonagall-charming ways.

“I can’t believe you just gave us detention,” Sirius groaned, instead.

“We skipped class. Therefore, I enacted a fair and just punishment. You’re welcome.”

“Snitch.”

“ _King_ ,” Lily shot back, holding her head high. Then, with a sparing glance at James and Peter, she spun on her heel. “Come along, boys,” she called over her shoulder, as she rounded the corner to the dungeons.

“Mr. Lupin,” McGonagall cut in. “I’d like a word.”

Remus frowned, and _something_ flashed across his eyes, but Sirius didn’t have long enough to see what it was before it was gone again, erased in that perfectly even face Remus sometimes made when he was trying to hide how much pain he was in.

That same _something_ lurched in the pit of Sirius’s stomach.

Glancing at James, Sirius jerked his head in the direction Lily had gone. After a moment, James took the hint and dragged Peter along. When they were gone, Sirius took half a step towards Remus, then stopped when McGonagall glared at him.

“I need to speak with _Mr. Lupin_ ,” she repeated, accentuating every word.

“All right,” Sirius said, with a shrug, because Remus wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“In private, Mr. Black.”

“All right.”

McGonagall heaved a great sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. Sirius noticed that she did that a lot in his presence. It made him proud.

“You have class, Mr. Black.”

“I’m here for moral support,” Sirius said, because Remus certainly looked like he needed it.

Another sigh, but this one sounded a hell of a lot more like reluctant acceptance. “Very well.” She pointed to the spot right outside the classroom door. “Sit right there. Behave.”

Deciding it was best to not push his luck, Sirius obeyed without question. Remus shot him a glance, that dangerous, horrifying _something_ lurking somewhere behind his amber eyes.

McGonagall shut the heavy wooden door behind Remus, leaving Sirius alone in the hall.

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

This was taking far longer than Sirius had anticipated.

The sit-and-behave order from McGonagall lasted all of five minutes before Sirius was on his feet, pacing in front of the door. Fifteen minutes in, he glanced up and down the hallway, before pressing his ear against the heavy oak, but he couldn’t hear a damn thing. Figures, McGonagall would put a silencing charm on the door.

He tried not to worry or wildly speculate. He really, really did. But that _look_ on Remus’s face combined with the inordinate amount of time he suddenly had on his hands, wild speculation was pretty much his only option.

He bit his thumbnail and stopped pacing.

Fact: Remus was scared. Or nervous, maybe. Ashamed? All three? Remus was… _something._

Logical conjecture: Remus knew why McGonagall pulled him aside to speak in private.

If Remus knew—or, at the very least, suspected—why McGonagall wanted to speak with him and he was… heartbroken (maybe?), then Sirius felt fairly confident in concluding it had something to do with Remus’s scars and his trips home.

If that was the case, it could go either way.

Maybe, McGonagall had _finally_ taken notice of Remus’s scars. Or, more specifically, how he tended to have _more_ of them whenever he returned to Hogwarts after visiting his sick mum. If that was the case, Sirius would be fucking ecstatic, because, regardless of Sirius’s personal gripes with McGonagall, there was no way in hell McGonagall would allow _that_ to happen to Remus Lupin. Even if she wasn’t Head of House or a professor at Hogwarts and thereby entrusted with the safety and well-being of her students, McGonagall actually _liked_ Remus. He was her star student. If she suspected someone was hurting him, Sirius was fairly confident that McGonagall would put an end to it immediately.

Then again, Sirius distinctly remembered Remus saying something about the possibility that he’d be expelled if anyone ever discovered his secret.

That…

Well, Sirius didn’t even want to think about that.

He started pacing again.

An hour later—a whole fucking _hour_ —the latch on the door clicked, and Sirius’s heart jolted. He moved quick, darting to the spot from which McGonagall told him not to move, sitting cross-legged on the floor, and plastering a patently innocent expression on his face.

Remus slipped through the narrow crack in the door, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. He tugged the door shut again behind him.

Remus looked very much like he wanted to cry.

Sirius jumped to his feet, then edged into Remus’s space, close but not touching, in his orbit, but never colliding.

Remus glanced at him, and something like surprise flickered across his face. “You’re still here?”

“‘Course I am,” Sirius said, easily.

“But you missed Potions.”

Sirius shrugged. “Moral support, remember?”

Remus blinked, but his mouth twitched up at the memory of Sirius’s arse stuck to the bench after that first Transfiguration class. It didn’t last long, though, before whatever dark cloud remained from his conversation with McGonagall masked his features once more.

“Lunch or dorms?” Sirius asked.

Remus took a long moment before he replied. “Lunch.” Then, with far more conviction: “Christ, I’m starving.”

“Right. Let’s go.”

Sirius was three paces away before he realised Remus wasn’t following. He stopped, then turned on his heel. “Remus?”

Remus met his eyes, his face remarkably blank, save for the single tear that trailed down the divots of his scars. “I’m staying at Hogwarts for the holidays.”

Sirius’s stomach dropped in relief and he broke out in a grin. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, “That’s brilliant! You, me and Evans. We’ll—”

He swallowed his words at Remus’s expression. 

“You… You don’t want to stay?” Sirius tried not to be hurt by that, because it was different than Evans not wanting to stay, wasn’t it? Remus staying at Hogwarts was a _good_ thing. He was safe at Hogwarts, just like Sirius.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t have much of a choice.” He turned, slightly, gesturing towards the door. “McGonagall— We, er. We flooed my parents, and they decided it was best if I stay here.” Remus gave a half-hearted shrug and muttered something about his mother’s progressing illness.

It was all matter-of-fact, almost detached, like Remus hadn’t been part of the discussion at all.

Why the hell wasn’t Remus _relieved?_ And, although Sirius didn’t ask that, the question must have been written all over his face.

Remus sighed, caught his eye, and said, “I know what you think of my parents, Sirius, but I swear to you, that’s not it. I love my parents and I—”

Remus choked on his words.

_They hurt you. They_ scarred _you, Remus. You said they were monsters. They—_

Sirius Black had a hard time picturing _anyone_ with a happy family. Whenever James talked about his parents and how Mr. and Mrs. Potter doted on him constantly, Sirius was overwhelmed with the wistful haze that often accompanied the telling of some romantic fairytale. It didn’t seem real, that anyone could possibly be loved and content and goddamned _happy_ to be around their family.

Deep down, he knew that this only spoke to how fucked his own situation was. He knew, logically, that some people, out there in the wide, wild world, _had_ to be happy when surrounded by their family, else the human and wizarding races would’ve died out ages ago. It was undoubtedly a matter of statistical probability, but even then, Sirius’s own experiences muddled his belief that such families could exist.

What he absolutely, positively _refused_ to accept, however, was that someone could come from a family like his and still, by some logical inconsistency, _defend_ them. No matter how good the person, no matter how kind, how remarkably brave or heroic in the face of atrocities, how could _anyone—_ even Remus-bloody-Lupin—have it in their heart to _love_ the people that did all that to them?

If Remus wasn’t going to hate his family for the scars that crisscrossed his skin, then Sirius was damn-well going to do it for him.

However, in a rather dramatic bout of uncharacteristic forethought, Sirius held his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius found himself saying instead.

Remus’s eyes snapped to his, all amber waves of utter heartbreak and pain that went down to his bones. “What if—”

Remus cut off in something of a choked sob.

Sirius edged closer, almost imperceptibly. “What if, what?”

“What if I stay here for the holidays and still end up with new scars?”

He said it in a rush, so fast and with such force, that it took Sirius nearly a full minute to digest.

Because how the _fuck_ was that possible? If Remus stayed at Hogwarts, he was _safe_.

Wasn’t he?

“W-what?” Sirius breathed.

“I told you, Siri. The scars. They’re not what you think.”

Sirius tried to process this, to cross-reference with the conclusion he’d drawn when he’d first seen Remus on the platform—when he first sought after answers for the marks crisscrossing Remus’s face, between his freckles—with the reality that Remus thought he could still be hurt at _Hogwarts_. His mind flitted through everything Remus had said about his scars: the pain, running with scissors, the absolute terror in his eyes when he left and came back with fresh marks. Dark Magic and wounds that won’t heal and all that fucking blood in the bathroom on the second floor.

_Monster_.

Remus had said it was a monster.

What else could it be?

Once more, Remus seemed to sense the question written all over Sirius’s face. “I swear I’ll… I’ll tell you when I’m brave, Siri,” Remus whispered. “But now, I…”

He cut off again with a helpless shrug.

Despite every instinct nagging at him to push Remus for answers, Sirius sighed and let it go with a subtle nod.

“ _Now_ ,” Sirius said, finishing his thought with a trade-marked wicked grin, “you and I need to plan how to get away with the most elaborate Christmas prank that Hogwarts has ever seen. I might even be able to persuade Her Majesty, the King to help. We’ll have a proper Marauders’ Christmas, you and me.”

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

**NOVEMBER 5, 1971**

 

When Sirius got back to the dorms that night, it was just past midnight. McGonagall had kept him nearly an hour longer than Lily Evans purely, or so it seemed to Sirius, out of spite.

Sirius loosened his tie, tossed it haphazardly on his trunk, before he tugged the hangings aside on his bed. Remus was asleep under his covers, the extra pillow situated in the middle of the bed, and plenty of room for Sirius to crawl in and sleep. He smiled, because, _Merlin_ , Remus always looked so peaceful in his sleep, like all the fears and pain and doldrums of the day melted into the star-patterned freckles of his face.

A breeze swept at the hangings and nipped at the exposed skin on the back of Sirius’s neck. Sirius turned to the open window and wondered briefly if Remus had waited for him on the roof before succumbing to the exhaustion from the day and from his recent visit home. Except, no, because when Sirius went to close the window, he found James Potter leaning casually against the roof, swaddled in a heavy winter cloak and a ridiculous dog-eared cap on his head.

“Thought you were asleep,” Sirius said, casually, leaning back inside to glance at James’s empty bed.

“Thought you’d be back hours ago,” James replied, matching his tone. “Remus tried to wait up, but I sent him inside. It’s slippery enough out here with the frost. Didn’t need him taking an accidental nose dive in case he nodded off.”

“Mm, no, we can’t have that.”

“You coming out, or what?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “You’re not having a crisis, are you? Not that I wouldn’t want to help, but it’s been a rather long day and I’m rather beat.”

“Not having a crisis, no. Just waiting for the fireworks.” He said it with that mischievous glint in his eye, the one that sparkled there, constantly, no matter what he was doing. It was a wicked gleam that was so distinctly _James Potter_ that Sirius found it impossible to resist. “In or out, Black?”

“Out.”

Sirius flicked his wrist and summoned the duvet from Remus’s empty bed. Wrapping it tightly around his shoulders, he carefully made his way out on the roof, then waved a quick warming charm over both him and James.

“Ta,” James muttered, as colour flooded back into his cheeks. Sirius had a sneaking suspicion that James had been out there in the cold for quite some time. He pressed close, safely wrapped in the duvet, and despite the cold, he felt remarkably content up here on the roof with James Potter.

Then, the fireworks started.

Sirius had thought James was kidding, playing facetious at the very least, but there they were, one after another. Sparks of red and blue and gold danced across the sky, in a constant stream of _hiss_ and _pop_ and acrid smell of sulphur that settled over the castle. The fireworks came from all four corners of the castle, simultaneous and timed down to the second, one after the other, in a chorus of brilliantly coloured explosions.

Sirius leaned forward, a manic grin on his face, nearly close enough to touch the raining sparks. He glanced back at James. “Prewetts?”

James nodded, the blasts from the fireworks reflected in the whites of his eyes. “It’s Guy Fawkes Day,” he said, by way of explanation.

“That’s a Muggle thing, right?”

“Yeah,” James said. “Some guy tried to blow up Parliament. Or declared independence. Or maybe something with a prison?”

“No, no. The prison is the French one. Evans had a book about it. Well, not specifically. But it was mentioned.”

“Ah.” James paused. “To be quite honest, I’m not sure what we’re celebrating.”

The fireworks cascaded across the sky, shifted and morphed into patterns: a regimen of sparkling soldiers, an angular mask, then, finally, an illustrious bout of explosions.

“It’s not like the Prewetts would pass up an opportunity to set off explosions,” Sirius said.

James laughed as the last of the fireworks died down. “From what Marlene said, they got their whole bearded cult involved.”

“Figures,” Sirius snorted. “I knew there was a good reason behind starting a cult. I’m considering starting one of my own. Though, I’m not much one for colourful beards.”

Silence fell over the castle, as the leftover plumes of smoke evaporated into the blanket of stars. A chill snuck up Sirius’s spine, despite the warming charm and the duvet, and he edged closer to James.

“Are you in love with Evans?”

Sirius didn’t quite know how to go about dissecting that question, so he started with, “What the fuck, James?”

“It’s just…” James started, helplessly. “You spend a lot of time with her. And she likes you. Since when does she like you?”

“She’s my friend, Jamie.”

“Do you like her? I mean, I… How could you _not?_ She’s gorgeous. I wouldn’t be mad if you did.”

Sirius thought that James’s tone seemed to suggest otherwise. Sirius quirked his eyebrow in a sort of challenge.

“Okay, fine,” James relented. “I’d be upset if you were ogling my future wife.”

“Mother of Merlin, James, I am not _ogling_ Evans.”

“But you spend a lot of time with her.”

“She’s my _friend_! Same as you and Remus and Pete!”

“But Lily…” James frowned. “She’s gorgeous. How can you not want to snog her?”

“You’re bloody gorgeous too, mate, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to snog you. You’re rather bad at it.”

“Oi!” James shoved him hard, nearly causing Sirius to lose his balance, before he grabbed Sirius’s arm. Sirius thanked his lucky stars for the duvet, otherwise he may have very well flinched away and fallen from the roof.

“You think I’m gorgeous?” James asked, once Sirius had once again settled in on the relative safety of the icy roof.

“Salazar’s fucking balls,” Sirius muttered, running a hand through his hair. “ _Yes_ , James, you’re the prettiest princess in the castle. I’m still not snogging you again.”

“Yes, but the question is how do I—or, we, it seems—get _Evans_ to snog me.”

“She hates you,” Sirius deadpanned. “It’s not going to happen.”

And, honestly, James didn’t seem too offended by that. “Yes, but she doesn’t hate _you_.”

“Because I’m her friend.” He wondered how many times he was going to have to repeat that before James latched onto the idea.

“So, you love her?”

“I’m her friend,” Sirius answered, slowly and deliberately, and it’s _Yes, I love her_ , because she’s his friend, and _No, I don’t love her_ in the way James meant. It was the best possible answer he could give.

“Alright,” James said, clearly understanding none of the subtleties of Sirius’s answer. “You can talk me up, right?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I’ve already told her you’re a horrible kisser, Potter. What more do you want?”

James looked rather offended at that. “I want to marry her and have thirteen children.”

“Merlin, thirteen?” Sirius muttered. “What does anyone even do with thirteen children? Open a sweat shop? Good luck getting Evans on board with that.”

“Yes, but that’s where you come in.”

“I will not be your _pimp_ , Jamie.”

“But you can convince her not to hate me.”

“While we’re on the subject of miracles, I suppose I’ll just pull a unicorn out of my arse. I’ll earn extra marks in Care of Magical Creatures.”

James ignored the biting sarcasm. “Come on, Sirius. Please? I’ll let you be the best man at our wedding.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “I’d be the best man at your wedding if you married a toad. I’m your best friend, remember?”

Except James seemed to have gotten stuck on this whole idea of his wedding to Lily Evans. “Merlin, can you picture it? Do you think she’d wear a Muggle wedding dress? I bet she would. She’s proud like that. It’ll be long, and beautiful, and white, and Merlin, her _hair_. She’d look like a white-frosted carrot cake.”

“If you ever decide to say that to her face, please make sure I’m there with a camera first,” Sirius said, mostly in an effort to cut James off before he waxed poetic on every detail of the Evans-Potter wedding.

Again, James ignored him and blinked wistful dark eyes at Sirius. “You’ll help me, right? Please, Sirius?”

“Fine,” Sirius relented, mostly because he knew James wouldn’t stop pestering him about this. “But, for the record, I think you have a better chance with that toad.”

James threw his arms around Sirius’s neck and pulled him close in a hug before Sirius could get away. It hurt, mostly where James placed a sloppy on Sirius’s cheek, and Sirius was grateful for the modicum of cushion the duvet offered. He shoved James away, wiping the spit from his cheek.

“You can start by buying her chocolate, maybe. Or quills. Evans goes through quite a few quills,” Sirius said. “Also, you should refrain from any future marriage proposals and mentioning the thirteen chidden.”

“You’re right,” James said, nodding serenely. “That’s more of second date material.”

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

**NOVEMBER 12, 1971**

 

As the week went on, Sirius _finally_ began to relax. He surrendered fully into the idea that he was _safe_ and for once in his life, having hope had paid off. He was staying at Hogwarts over the holidays.

He was, however, beginning to understand that look in Remus’s eye whenever the upcoming Christmas holidays were mentioned: the one that spoke of longing for home and, maybe, of something like abandonment. Despite the brilliant plans that Sirius, Remus, and Lily had concocted—one of which involved a secret tunnel that supposedly led to Honeydukes in Hogsmeade that Lily had heard one of the older Hufflepuffs discussing—Remus still craved to spend the holidays with his family.

And, maybe— _maybe_ —Sirius was starting to understand. Because it didn’t matter if he managed to worm his way out of the Black Christmas gathering, did it? Regulus was still there. Regulus was all but locked in Grimmauld Place, not just for the holidays, but for the year, left to face the wrath and anger of their parents without Sirius there as his protector, buffer, and constant advocate.

Would his mother turn her wand on Regulus, if Sirius wasn’t there to take his own punishment for being sorted into Gryffindor, for scarring Lucius Malfoy, for being a general disgrace to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black? He wouldn’t put it past her and the thought _nauseated_ him. What kind of monster would leave his little brother to go to judgment in his place?

Sometimes, mostly at night, when the elation and hope faded into the darkness, the guilt threatened to devour Sirius whole.

He’d mentioned his concern for Regulus in a letter to Andromeda and had included a draft of another letter addressed to his younger brother for her to forward. Though his letter to Regulus was subtle, filled with empty, yet heartfelt platitudes and subtle hints at acts of vengeance should Regulus face any harm on Sirius’s behalf, Andromeda had shot down the idea entirely. _We can’t risk provoking the Warden now, Siri_. _If we do, she’ll find a way to get you back to Grimmauld Place._ She’d then gone into a rather lengthy explanation on how her presence had been specifically requested at Grimmauld Place by his mother, no less, only to find out from Bellatrix that it was because Julius Fawley—“ _the utter fucking, marble-brained, toadstool of a wizard”—_ planned to propose to her in front of all of the Black family guests, thereby making it nearly impossible for her to refuse.

_Poor Ted_ , Sirius had thought, when he read the letter.

Andromeda had sworn up and down that she’d check up on Regulus, even amidst the impending proposal and chaos, but Sirius could feel the hollowness in the promise, no matter how well-meaning it was. Andromeda could do no more than _check up_ on him, and they both knew it. She was powerless to help Regulus, to stop anything from happening to him, even if Regulus begged her to.

All and all, Sirius found himself praying to unnamed deities that his mother would take out her rage and frustration on Kreacher. Or, even, that she’d let it stew and simmer until the summer, when he could take the brunt of it. Anything to keep Regulus out of her line of fire.

Anything, well, except going home for the holidays.

He was pretty sure that made him a coward, but he was nowhere near brave enough to go home willingly.

Mostly, he tried not to think about it.

Like, earlier that week, for instance, when he’d hexed the ever-living shit out of the Carrow twins for teasing Dorcas Meadows about her beard. Marlene had come to his aid, mid-hex, and they’d both taken on a twin, only to end up serving detention with Filch when McGonagall had caught them. Commiserating in detention, both Marlene and Sirius decided they felt better knowing that the Carrow twins would spend the next day or so in the hospital wing regrowing all their teeth.

Or, two days ago, when he’d slid into the seat beside Lily Evans in the Great Hall, just before dinner, and said, “You know, James Potter is remarkably majestic on a broom, don’t you think, Evans? I reckon he’ll be a professional Quidditch player. His arse sure would look good in—”

Lily had glared at him, stood up, and left.

The next morning, she’d grabbed Sirius’s sleeve—always careful not to actually _touch_ him—and had all but dragged him down to the Quidditch Pitch. They’d watched James and Peter fly around for a bit, and every time Sirius had tried to ask Lily what they were doing there, she’d shushed him, then motioned that he watch James.

Ten minutes in the air and James had begun to… _fidget_. Twelve minutes in, he’d begun to swerve in an effort to itch his backside. Thirteen minutes in, he couldn’t stop itching. Thirteen and a half minutes in, he tumbled off his broom from twenty feet up and would’ve landed hard on his arse had Lily not been ready with a Cushioning Charm.

“ _That’s_ what I think of his arse,” she’d said.

Sirius had gaped at her in amazement, as she’d held up a packet of itching powder. Plain, old, non-magic, _Muggle_ itching powder, that she’d somehow managed to slip into James Potter’s Quidditch robes.

Sirius found himself strongly reconsidering his insistence that he wasn’t, in fact, in love with Lily Josephine Evans.

It had not, however, deterred James Potter in the slightest. He’d insisted on accompanying Remus, Lily, and Sirius to the library after lunch.

Now, James sat next to Sirius, his glasses slightly askew and hair as crazy as ever. He leaned back in his chair, his arms dangling limp at his side, staring at the ceiling and groaning in boredom.

Lily and Remus had been arguing for quite some time.

“How many books have you given him, then?” Lily said. “Two? Three? It’s my _turn_!”

“To be fair, the last time it was your turn, you gave him _Les Miserables_. You could not have picked a longer book,” Remus replied. “It’s got to count for two.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Just because you picked the shortest possible book for your turn doesn’t mean you get to go again, Lupin. That’s not how this works.”

James lolled his head to the side to catch Sirius’s eye. He looked bored. Sirius figured if it wasn’tfor the excuse to blatantly stare at Lily Evans, James would’ve left ages ago. “Do they always talk about books?” James asked.

Sirius shrugged. He hadn’t realised, until he sat down, that Remus and Lily seemed to have made some kind of arrangement that predominantly involved introducing him to the Greatest Hits of Muggle literature. He’d just thought they were being kind and occasionally lending and/or giving him their books.

But this… This was a competition.

Sirius kind of liked it.

“Since when do you read books?” James asked. “I haven’t seen you touch your Potions or Charms book all year. And I’m pretty sure I saw you toss your Transfiguration book into the fire.”

Sirius had done that, actually. He’d been particularly angry with McGonagall for giving him zero marks and taking away house points when he’d used wandless magic in class.

“That’s because I already know all the spells in them. This—” Sirius gestured to Remus and Lily. “—This is Muggle stuff. Brave new world.”

“Ooh,” Lily said, her attention snapping to Sirius and cutting off mid-sentence with whatever she’d been saying to Remus. She reached for a scrap of parchment. “That’s a brilliant one!” She turned back to Remus and glared. “But I’m saving that for later. He has to read _The Three Musketeers_ first.”

“No,” Remus said, with a patient sigh. “ _Beowulf_ logically comes next.”

“What about Shakespeare?” James threw in.

“No,” Remus and Lily snapped.

Then, a sympathetic glance from Remus. “He’s got to work his way up to Shakespeare.”

Sirius, who had been told this before, just shrugged at James.

James held up his hands in mock surrender. To Sirius, he said, “I only know plays. My mum loves them and she takes me to see them. It’s fun, really. We dress in Muggle clothes. Mum wears a sari and Dad spends the whole day swooning. If we go to one of the authentic performances, blokes play the girls’ parts. Even Juliet.”

Sirius tried to imagine what that was like, to have a mother who loved Muggle plays and culture so much that she took her son to see cross-dressers in a play.

Once again, James Potter’s life seemed to be a fairy tale.

“You’re the Marauders,” Lily insisted, which caused James to sit up proudly and preen a little. “He needs to read _The Three Musketeers_. It should be your bloody anthem!”

“ _Beowulf_ should be our bloody anthem!” Remus shot back. “He’s a warrior king, a true Gryffindor who defeats monsters!”

Sirius leaned forward, intrigued. “Do I get a say in all this?”

“No,” Remus and Lily said, once more in unison.

“I’m not doubting the merits of _Beowulf_ ,” Lily said, diplomatically. “I’m just saying that it’s my—”

“Mr. Black?”

Four heads snapped around to stare up at the frowning face and clipped voice of Professor Horace Slughorn.

Something horrifically similar to dread settled in the pit of Sirius’s stomach.

“Hello, Professor,” Sirius said, forcing his voice to come out upbeat and even.

“Mr. Black,” Slughorn repeated. “I wasn’t able to catch you after class, but I wanted to speak with you.”

Slughorn cast a glance over the table, which Sirius took to mean that Slughorn wanted to speak to him in private.

Sirius wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to speak to Slughorn in private. He didn’t think he could handle it, if his intuition was correct. This was not a conversation that would bear glad tidings.

Slughorn huffed in a way that reminded Sirius of his mother. He could almost hear Walburga Black’s clipped tone, picture her upturned nose. _Pure blood matters are not discussed in the company of our lessers._

For all Slughorn claimed to be above blood biases, he still deferred to pure blood traditions when it came to the finer pieces of his collection. And Sirius was meant to be the finest of them all, wasn’t he?

The fucking Black heir.

In that moment, Sirius hated Slughorn, with every fibre of his being.

“Yes, Professor?” Sirius prompted, trying to convey with all the arrogance and authority of the Black heir that he was not moving from his seat.

Slughorn gave a halfhearted shrug, as if to say _Very well._

“I received your mother’s letter yesterday morning, Black,” Slughorn said, conversationally, as all the air was sucked out of Sirius’s lungs. “I understand why your cousin didn’t mention it, seeing as the engagement’s meant to be a surprise for her, but I do wish you’d told me you won’t be able to attend my little Christmas gathering. But you must be with your family, I suppose. Pressures of the heir, and all that.”

Slughorn chuckled, a deep, chortling thing that he clearly expected Sirius to reciprocate, but Sirius’s brain had frozen somewhere after the phrase, _your mother’s letter_.

“It’s no problem to reschedule after the holidays,” Slughorn continued, woefully misinterpreting Sirius’s silence. “A private dinner will give us an opportunity to get better acquainted, I’m sure, far more so than an unnecessarily formal dinner gathering. Not that my exclusive Christmas party is too shabby, Miss Evans.”

Sirius didn’t catch Lily’s reaction, if she had one at all. Slughorn hardly missed a beat before continuing.

“There are quite a few things I’d like to discuss with you, Black. Am I correct in assuming your father still holds his seat on the Wizengamot? There’s one bill in particular that interests me, concerning magical—”

“My mother’s letter?” Sirius said, his voice small and nearly broken. He hadn’t heard a word of Slughorn’s ramblings.

“Yes, yes,” Slughorn said, pulling up short mid-sentence. He patted his robes, then rummaged through the pockets. “I do believe I still have it on me. Yes, here.”

Sirius took the letter and stares down at the broken Black seal. _Toujours Pur_ was printed in a harsh, yet elegant script right underneath, the same slanted pattern as the tattoo on his chest. His mother’s handwriting.

 

_Professor Slughorn,_

 

_While I’m sure my son appreciates your invitation to your dinner party over the Christmas holidays, I am afraid that I must decline on his behalf. Sirius is needed at home for a rather important family matter. Andromeda Black, whom I believe was another star pupil of yours, is due to be engaged to Julius Fawley on Christmas Eve. Sirius, as the Black heir, is needed, as per his station in the Black family._

_I am sure you understand._

 

_Walburga Black_

_Matriarch of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_

 

His first thought was, _I didn’t know my mother could sound so diplomatic._

His second thought was his mother’s voice, ghostly and disembodied, but still as cruel as ever: _Nice fucking try_.

His third was perhaps the most terrifying of them all: _She knows I tried to run_.

Numbly, Sirius handed the letter back to Slughorn, who was _still_ fucking talking. “I sincerely look forward to meeting with you in the new year, my dear boy, and further cultivating our relationship. It always helps to have a Black in my corner. Do tell Andromeda congratulations, after the surprise, of course. She was one of my best. Shame about that Ted Tonks, really, poor chap, but Andromeda has always had greater things her future.”

Sirius wanted to punch Slughorn in his fucking face, if not for himself, then for Ted Tonks.

“Until next time, then,” Slughorn said, rocking on his feet a little, still seemingly oblivious to the bomb he’d just placed so casually into Sirius’s hands. “Don’t forget your Potions essays. I expect great things out of both you and Evans, Black.”

Then he was gone.

The library was quiet. The library was _always_ quiet—thanks, Madam Pince—but _this_ was kind of silence that roared across snow covered fields in the dead of night: haunting and horrifying and carrying every sorrow left in the world. 

“Right,” said Remus, clapping his hands as loud as humanly possible. Everyone jumped but Sirius. “Marauders meeting—”

“And Lily,” Lily demanded.

Remus inclined his head. “Marauders meeting, and Lily. Our dormitory. Right fucking now.”

Lily flicked her wand at the mess of books on the table and all at once they slammed shut.

“Right,” James echoed, letting out a long breath. “I’ll go find Peter.”

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

Sirius didn’t remember exactly how he got from the library to the boys’ dormitory, but he was leaning towards some form of teleportation before he remembered Apparition was impossible within the school grounds.

All he knew was that he was currently wrapped in not one, but _two_ duvets, seated on Remus’s bed, with Lily pressed against one side and Remus sitting an inch away at his other.

“Right,” James said, biting his lip. He stood next to Peter, with his arms crossed “And I mean this with all the love in the world, but…” He paused, then said in a rush: “ _ShoudEvansbehere?”_

Lily flicked two fingers up at him. “Fuck you, Potter.”

“While I’m sure that would be lovely, my point is, she might not be aware of certain—”

“I’m his _friend_ ,” Lily spat, every word laced with venom.

“Yes, but does she know about—”

“ _James_!” Remus was quick. He hurled a pillow at James’s head with such force that James stumbled back into the door. Then, looking a little guilty, and glancing between a blank-faced Sirius and a rather indignant James, Remus said, “We swore an oath, remember? On our _magic_. We can’t say anything.”

_Oh, right_. Sirius had nearly forgotten about that.

“But she doesn’t _know_ ,” James said, with a vague gesture that was probably supposed to mean something.

“I know enough,” Lily retorted.

And Sirius shrugged, because, that’s right. She did. Probably. He was operating under the assumption that she’d figured him out.

Sirius glanced around the room and, Merlin’s saggy tits, when did his secrets get thrown around in little bits and pieces like dirty fucking laundry? James and Peter knew enough about his less than ideal childhood to be bound by an oath of silence. Remus knew about his wand and his general hatred of physical contact, but thankfully, not the specifics of either. Lily knew about the tattoo on his chest and the blood curse and—

“My parents—” Sirius started, by way of explanation.

“Hurt you,” Lily finished.

And, yep, she knew about that too.

Lily Evans, cartographer of secrets.

A half-crazed voice in the back of his head whispered that if he hadn’t seen her kindness or that little streak of reckless ferocity in her that made her so much more Gryffindor than Slytherin, he’d be absolutely _terrified_ of her.

Maybe he was scared of her all the same. Just a little.

“Right,” Remus said. He pressed himself into Sirius’s side, just enough that Sirius felt the beginnings of pain, but not enough to actually hurt. “You are absolutely not going back there.”

That same annoying voice gnawed at his subconscious, because _Wasn’t that what I said to Remus a week ago?_

No one said anything for a solid minute.

“All right,” Lily breathed, her voice steady and remarkably calming, given the circumstances. “I’ll ask the question if no one else will: _How_ do we keep him here?”

“What about your cousin?” Remus asked.

“Narcissa?” Lily asked, her voice hitting a high note.

“Andromeda,” James said.

“The good one,” Peter added, helpfully.

Sirius just shook his head. “I’ll write her, but… Slughorn was her plan. It’s all we were able to come up with since I was sorted. Plus, well…” Sirius thought back to Andromeda’s latest letter and her nearly three page rant about Julius Fawley. “She’s got her own shit to deal with.”

“No offense, mate,” Peter began, his voice barely a squeak, “but what’s the difference in going back now and going back in the summer? You’ll _have_ to go back in the summer. Everybody does. So maybe it would be better if you just went back now and—”

“No _fucking_ way,” Remus snarled. It was difficult to see from where he was sitting, but judging by the look of horror that washed over Peter’s face and the venom laced in Remus’s tone, Sirius was pretty sure that Remus had bared his _teeth_ at Peter. Sirius didn’t know whether to be alarmed or flattered by that.

“Remus,” Lily said, in a calm, soothing tone, as she gingerly reached around Sirius to put a hand on Remus’s shoulder. She turned her gaze to Peter. “Everything’s fresh on everyone’s mind right now, Peter. It’s a temporary fix, yes, but it’ll give Sirius time to let things calm down.”

Sirius wished that were true. He’d give _anything_ for that to be true, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be, not with the Warden and her list of grievances. Sirius was sitting on a fucking time bomb and it was not so much a matter of _if_ it’ll explode at all, but _when_ and _holy mother of Merlin, think of the fallout._

Peter fucking Pettigrew was right. Christmas or summer, Sirius was fucked. All he’d wanted was to put it off as long as possible.

“Doesn’t matter, does it?” Sirius said, and he was already through the sentence before he actually realised he was speaking out loud. “I’m going back for Christmas. That’s the end of it.”

“Okay,” James said, clapping his hands together as he started to pace. “If you’re stuck going back there, then we’ll train you up. Defensive spells. All of them. Any one we can get ahold of. You said you could do magic at Grimmauld Place, yeah? We’ll just make sure you’re ready. You’ve got to work on your shield charms, anyways, mate.”

The thought nauseated Sirius, because how much worse would it be if he actually dared to put up a fight?

“No.” Sirius’s voice came out so quietly that James almost missed it.

James opened and closed his mouth. Then, in a huff, he said, “Well, how do you _know_ what it’ll be like? Maybe it’ll be fine. You’ll see your brother and your family and have a lovely Christmas dinner and maybe it’ll be just fine. You don’t know that—”

“I know exactly what it’ll be like!” Sirius roared. The words felt like desperation, deep in his soul, but Merlin, it tasted like _rage_ on his tongue. Sirius took a second to savour it. “I’ve known since I asked that bloody hat for Gryffindor.”

Because how could James-fucking-Potter, fairytale prince from a fairytale family, even begin to comprehend the horrors that lurked in the shadows of Grimmauld Place?

“Do you want to know, Jamie? Do you want to know what the Blacks will do to their pariah heir?” It came out detached, and maybe a little bit cruel, but Sirius was beyond caring. “They will do anything and everything short of ending my life or leaving a permanent mark. My mother is quite fond of the Cruciatus curse, did you know that? Do you know what that feels like, James? To see your fucking mother pointing her wand at you and--”

“Sirius.” Remus’s voice cut through the muddled cloud of rage and terror in his mind.

James looked, well, appropriately remorseful. Properly horrified, really. And maybe like he wanted a blanket of his own to hide under. Peter was as pale as a ghost.

_Oh, look_ , said that horrible voice in Sirius’s head. _I’ve frightened them_.

Sirius let out a long, laboured breath. “It’ll be worse, now.”

“W-worse?” squeaked Peter.

“She knows I tried to get away.”

Sirius watched as, one by one, realisation slowly washed over their faces. It took longer for James, just as Sirius knew it would, because how could the golden, fairytale prince possibly imagine the horrific monster that lie in wait to devour Sirius’s heart and soul? James Potter looked forward to his own homecoming and his smiling parents—his mum in a sari and his dad with his speckled grey hair sticking out every which way just like his son—would meet him on the platform, embrace him, smother him, then take him home to spoil him, dote on him, fatten him up before they sent him back to Hogwarts with his mother’s lipstick smeared across his cheek.

Sirius didn’t envy James. Not really, though the annoyingly logical voice in the back of his head told him that any other sane person _should_ envy James Potter. A kid like James Potter would never know what it’s liked to be unwanted, let alone the abject horror that seeped into your bones at the prospect of being loathed beyond all reason by someone who was supposed to love you.

No, Sirius Black didn’t want to _be_ James Potter.

But, in that moment, he also very much didn’t want to be himself, either.

A wave of emotionless detachment washed over him, the bizarrely unnatural feeling you get when you suddenly find yourself begging gods you don’t believe in to take it all back. Because maybe—maybe—it was better to have never been born at all.

And, Merlin, what a comfortingly terrifying thought that was.

Not for the first time—and certainly not the last—the voice in his head told him that he was batshit crazy.

For once, Sirius agreed with it.

“I don’t know what to do,” he found himself saying, because what else was there for him to say?

For a long moment, no one said anything. Sirius was pretty sure no one even dared to breathe.

Then, almost in unison, Remus and Lily glanced at each other—which wasn’t easy, seeing as Sirius was bundled in a mess of blankets between them—and Sirius was suddenly struck with the realisation that they’d spoken about this before. That they’d _strategised_ ways to keep him at Hogwarts. He wasn’t sure how, exactly, that was possible, given Remus’s oath, but if Lily had approached Remus, then technically…

Sirius supposed it didn’t matter. Either way, they’d somehow arrived at the same conclusion.

“Right,” Lily sighed.

“Pay the ferryman,” Remus said.

“What?” James, Peter, and Sirius asked, in perfect, three-part harmony.

“Pay the ferryman,” Remus repeated, emphasising every word. “It refers to the fee a dead soul gives to Charon, the ferryman, to cross the River Styx into the underworld.”

“Well, isn’t that an optimistic metaphor,” Sirius muttered. Lily swatted him.

“In certain versions of the myth,” Remus continued, as if Sirius hadn’t spoken, “the dead soul can bargain with Charon—or, more specifically, _bribe_ him—for a better place in the underworld.”

“The point is,” Lily cut in, “if you have the ferryman on your side, you might still be dead and fucked, but at least you have a modicum of control of where you end up.”

“Okay,” James said slowly, dragging out the last syllable. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “If Sirius is the dead and fucked guy—”

“Thanks, mate,” Sirius deadpanned.

“—Then who is our ferryman in this particular scenario?”

Once more, Remus and Lily exchanged a look over his head. Sirius glowered. He was not particularly fond being trapped between someone else’s silent conversation.

“McGonagall,” Lily said.

Peter outright laughed.

James raised a finger and said, intelligently, “Uh…”

Sirius let out a long, resigned breath. “Yeah, that was ‘Dromeda’s first plan too.”

“McGonagall hates Sirius,” Peter said.

“Yeah, uh. He’s not wrong,” James said. He tossed a sympathetic frown at Sirius. “Sorry.”

Sirius just shrugged because, yeah, McGonagall definitely hated him.

“Then we’ve got to get her to _not_ hate him,” Lily said, in a tone that said, _Yes, you morons, it really is that simple_.

“How?” James asked.

“No more pranks, for one,” Lily replied. “At all. Not even the little ones you lot have been pulling under her nose. Leave the fucking Slytherins alone. At least until next term.”

James looked sort of like he’d like very much to protest that point, but with a pointed glance at Sirius, he gave a curt nod. “Right. No more pranks.”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Remus said, slowly, “if Sirius improved his marks in Transfiguration. She’s been known to favour her best students.”

“I am her best student,” Sirius muttered, his voice flat, because really, it was more a statement of fact than any kind of a boast. “She gives me bad marks because I can’t do shit with my wand.”

Remus nudged Sirius with his shoulder. “You and I will practice before every Transfiguration class. If you can do everything with wandless magic, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to do them with your wand. We’ll work on each one until you can.”

Sirius had some doubts about the viability of that particular bit of the plan, but _Merlin_ , he was desperate and figured it might just be worth the effort. Plus, if anyone could figure out a way to get his goddamned dying wand to work properly, it’d be Remus Lupin.

“The four of us,” Lily said, her finger pointing at herself, Remus, James, and Peter, each in turn, “we do everything we possibly can to help Sirius do everything _right_. Then, at the end of the term, Sirius asks McGonagall for permission to stay in order to help me and Remus with a special research project.”

“Research project?” James asked. “What research project?”

“Wands,” Remus said, and Sirius felt his stomach drop. “Wandless magic, actually. Which is why _Sirius_ specifically would be necessary to the project.”

“We’ve already got it approved with Rattleburn for credit,” Lily added. “We _can_ convince McGonagall, especially if she’s a little more… amenable towards Sirius. It’d be a much less theoretical project if we had Sirius work with us.”

Sirius pushed himself back on the bed, sitting crosslegged in the middle, so he could better look between Remus and Lily.

“When the _fuck_ did you plan all this?” Sirius asked It didn’t come out angry, or even surprised, really. To everyone in the room, it sounded a hell of a lot like gratitude.

“The second I figured out that Christmas might be a problem,” Lily said.

Sirius couldn’t figure out if that just meant since the Malfoy Incident, or if it was a subtle way of saying that Lily Evans had had him figured out since the very beginning.

“Oh,” he said, stupidly.

“This could really work, Siri,” Remus said, shifting a little so he could nudge Sirius’s duvet-covered knee. “McGonagall’s Head of House. Her permission could override your mother’s demands if it were for a school-sanctioned project.”

“Merlin,” James muttered, ruffling his hair so that it stuck out more than it normally did. “They’re right, Sirius. This could work.”

Sirius let his eyes track over them. James, valiant fairytale prince with ridiculous hair that obeyed neither peasant nor product, and Peter, his loyal companion. Lily Evans, King, whose friendship and compassion were slowly becoming his lifeline. And Remus…

Remus, who knew intimately of the kind of pain that was entirely beyond description, who knew of horror and madness and unfathomable kindness. Remus, braveheart Gryffindor, who looked at Sirius like he was as bright and as infinite as the star that burned in the night sky…

Remus Lupin had a plan.

“All right,” Sirius said, his voice a little hoarse and choked with emotion. “Let’s do it.”

The plan was a long shot. It was insanity and improbability and involved begging Minerva McGonagall to save him, but _Merlin_ , it was a _chance_.

It wasn’t hope that began to simmer in his veins, per se. No, Sirius Black could no longer allow himself to be blindsided and maimed by the consequences of something as dangerous as hope.

This… this was something like _desperation,_ but Sirius didn’t _care_.

It was a _chance_.

“Right,” Remus said, smiling like the triumphant idiot that he was, all white teeth and amber eyes and pale, silver scars. “Grab your wand, Siri. We might as well start now.”

 

✦ - ☽ - ✧ - ☾ - ✦

 

**DECEMBER 13, 1971**

 

The thing was, by all reasonable counts, it should have _worked_.

He’d done everything right.

He’d met with Remus—more often than their usual nights on the roof and afternoons in the library—and they’d practiced every single flick and swish of his wand before Sirius had even been allowed to _try_ muttering the spell. It was clunky, imprecise work, and more often than not, it left one or both of them more than a little singed around the edges. Nonetheless, Sirius had sworn and cursed his way through it, and it’d worked. After many, _many_ long hours (and more than one heartfelt bargain with his wand), Sirius had finally managed to turn a teacup into hummingbird. And the hummingbird hadn’t even puffed up and exploded, like it had in class the first time he’d tried it with his wand.

That’d been the first one, less than a week after Slughorn delivered his news. Sirius was pretty sure that McGonagall’s eyes had nearly popped out from behind her square spectacles when Sirius had been the first person in class to produce a living, breathing, flying, non-exploding hummingbird in class. Though he could tell it’d pained her greatly, McGonagall had given him top marks. She had, however, made him stay after class in order to watch him perform the transfiguration not once, but _four_ more times, until she’d been absolutely certain that Sirius had done it on his own, with his wand, without any assistance from one Remus Lupin.

After that, it all just sort of fell into place. Sirius spent nearly every waking hour practicing various Transfiguration spells with his tempestuous wand, until he was quite certain that he’d memorised every goddamned page of Remus’s second-hand Transfiguration book, right down to the precise angle of the half-torn out page 236.

Remus had been called home again, at the beginning of December, supposedl both because of his mum’s health and because he wouldn’t be home for the holidays. He’d been gone for nearly four days, which, by Sirius’s count, was certainly longer than normal. Lily and James had taken over Sirius’s extracurricular Transfiguration lessons, though Sirius suspected James had mostly been there because Lily was there. James and Lily had spent a majority of the time bickering and, Sirius, well… He’d spent most of the time trying to keep Lily from permanently maiming his best friend in between her adjustments and suggestions for Sirius’s own wand movements.

In class that Friday, the remaining Marauders had been exhausted, and Sirius hadn’t been nearly as prepared as he’d been with Remus’s lessons. He’d barely noticed James and Lily’s quick consultation before class and hadn’t thought much of it, really, but then, when one of the Ravenclaws—probably Micah Or-Something—had been about to successfully transfigure his candle into a field mouse, James had sent a bolt of fire at his own candle, melting it instantly. McGonagall, successfully distracted, had proceeded to lecture James about how fire was not to be used in her classroom at all, ever, end of story, and Lily… Well, Lily had hexed the ever-living shit out of Micah Or-Something. Sirius still wasn’t entirely certain what she’d done, but he was more than certain that poor Micah Or-Something wet himself and had to make a hasty exit.

The rest of the class had proceeded in a similar fashion: James and Lily had alternated their roles as the distraction and the one who hexed the Ravenclaw who’d almost got the spell right. Micah Or-Something, thankfully, had been the only one to actually _leave_ the class, so McGonagall had been none-the-wiser, though certainly more than a little annoyed. James and Lily had been brilliant, really, because they timed their distractions with their ridiculous and elaborate arguments.

“A summer wedding would be _so_ much better, Evans,” James had whined.

“ _Thirteen?_ Christ, Potter, no sane person would fuck you thirteen times, let alone bear that many children,” Lily had shouted, while James pantsed one of the Ravenclaws. This one had earned Lily Evans detention for two weeks, a stern lecture after class, and had cost Gryffindor twenty points.

(So much for waiting until the second date.)

Ten minutes before the end of class, and no one had successfully done their transfiguration. Any Ravenclaw that had gotten close had been promptly hexed, until nearly half the class had been sporting sores in uncomfortable places. McGonagall had been so frazzled and put out that she’d actually let out a sigh of relief when Sirius had finally— _finally_ —conjured a field mouse from his candlestick with his wand. She’d awarded him the highest marks in the class and a reluctant five points to Gryffindor, before dismissing the class early in order to sufficiently yell at Lily and James.

Sirius had waited outside, ready with both an apology for taking so long and numerous expressions of gratitude, but Lily had just shrugged when she’d walked out, her head held high and proud.

“You have to be the best. If this is going to work, McGonagall’s got to know that you’re the best,” she’d said.

James had clapped him on the shoulder, with a quick, _You’re welcome, mate_ , and then had proceeded to tell Sirius that it wasn’t that big of a deal, because it meant that James got to serve detention with Lily until the end of the term. Apparently, it hadn’t mattered much that they were going to be scrubbing toilets with Filch.

Sirius’s good mood had lasted until that Sunday, when Remus had stumbled up the dormitory stairs some time after dinner. His eyes had been sunken, though still flecked with gold, and dark purple bruises had formed underneath them. Both of his wrists had been bleeding through his rumpled shirt again, which very nearly sent Sirius into full panic mode, but Remus had just waved him off, whispering over and over, “I’m fine, Siri. I’m fine.”

Sirius hadn’t believed it for a goddamned second, but he’d allowed Remus to disappear into the bathroom for a long, hot shower. When Remus had slipped into Sirius’s bed that night, his wrists had been wrapped in what looked like the torn and tattered remains of his shirt. Blood had still seeped out, a little watery, still wet from the shower, but neither of them had cared.

Sirius had whispered, “I’m so fucking glad you’re not going home for the holidays.”

Remus had sobbed into his pillow.

Sirius had thrown the duvet over him and pretended the tears and the blood and the scars didn’t matter.

The whole staying-out-of-trouble thing had proven to be a bit more complicated than the winning-McGonagall’s-heart thing. The Marauders were, by nature, troublemakers, and Sirius Black most of all. James and Sirius had, for the better part of the month, been fielding more of their time-sensitive ideas off to the Prewetts, which was both satisfying to see the pranks completed and the destruction wrought, but utterly devastating that they would never bear the Marauders’ trademarked name into infamy.

The Slytherins were a whole other matter, because despite Sirius’s pledge to leave them alone (and the Marauders’ similar pledge out of sheer solidarity), the Slytherins were bound by no such obligations. The Carrows—who Sirius considered Enemies Numbers Three and Four, immediately after Snape and Malfoy—took particular delight in nagging and tormenting the Marauders, especially after they figured out there seemed to be no retaliation. The Carrows had spelled Peter’s eyes shut, they’d cursed James to yodel everything for nearly two full days, and they’d once again given Remus vampire fangs—and that was just in the first week.

They still hadn’t touched the goddamned Black heir.

Sirius seethed, swearing up and down he’d curse them into oblivion the second the next term started, but he did nothing.

All things considered, it could have been worse. Malfoy could have gotten involved. Sirius could tell—even from across the Great Hall—how much Malfoy wanted to curse the ever-living shit out of him, but McGonagall had threatened Malfoy’s prefect badge and Malfoy was, at his very nature, the least-subtle, unimaginative, cowardly bastard on the fucking planet.

Sirius had a sneaking suspicion that Lily Evans had been keeping a tight leash on Severus Snape as well. They were talking again, even after the Malfoy Incident and the Great Snape Confession, and for the most part, they seemed to be friends. He saw them in the library every once in a while, sitting close together and whispering, and when he did, he’d spin on his heel and go to find Remus or James. Sirius both hated and couldn’t even begin to understand how Lily could be friends with Snivellus, but he’d sworn to her that he wouldn’t interfere.

Every now and then, when _he’d_ be sitting with Lily in the library or the Great Hall and caught Snape glowering at them, Sirius found himself wondering if Lily was holding Snape to a similar promise.

He wondered if Snape _loved_ Lily enough to tolerate her friendship with Sirius.

In a bizarre twist of fate, it was Crabbe and Macnair who’d started it. Of all the Slytherins that Sirius knew and loathed, up until this moment, Sirius wouldn’t have even ranked the sixth-year-Crabbe and fourth-year-Macnair in the top twenty on his surprisingly thought-out list of enemies. They were, the both of them, more followers than instigators, and both rather stupid.

It was Regulus’s birthday.

More specifically, it was Regulus’s _eleventh_ birthday.

Sirius was up early, as always, and sat in his bed to scribble down a quick letter to his brother. He’d summoned a proper quill from James’s bag, rather than using Remus’s ballpoint, just on the off chance that his mother had been burning his letters simply because they were written with Muggle ink and _not_ just because they were from Sirius. The letter was quick, simple, full of _Happy fucking birthday_ and _Did you get your Hogwarts letter yet?!!!!_

Sirius’s own Hogwarts letter had come later in the evening on his eleventh birthday. He couldn’t quite decide if it was because the owl post was delayed for the day or if seven in the evening was the _actual_ hour of his birth and therefore his _exact_ eleventh birthday. He hadn’t quite wanted to ask his mother, most especially because neither his mother nor father acknowledged that it actually _was_ his birthday until that damn owl flew threw the window at dinner.

He didn’t want it to be like that for Regulus. Regulus deserved to have his birthday acknowledged, even if the acknowledgment wasn’t immediately accompanied by a Hogwarts letter.

Remus stirred on the other side of the pillow-barrier when Sirius slipped from underneath the covers. “Siri? What time is it?”

Sirius pulled on his boots and a thick Gryffindor robe that had to be James’s. “Half five. Go back to sleep.”

“Where’re you going,” Remus muttered into his pillow and, really, it came out more like a whine than a question.

“Letter to Regulus. It’s his birthday.”

Remus let out a long, mournful groan, then shoved himself upright. He didn’t look to happy to be vertical. Light brown curls stuck out egregiously on one side, while they were pressed flat against his skull on the other. There were bags under his eyes and the scars on his face seemed to glow just a little in the pale, morning light.

Remus Lupin was not a morning person.

“I’m coming with you,” Remus Lupin said anyway.

Sirius froze, halfway through the process of tucking Regulus’s letter in an empty pocket of James’s robe—if he could find an empty pocket, that is. “What? Why?”

Remus shrugged, then it immediately turned into a stretch. “Keep an eye on you, I suppose.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes, not quite sure how he felt about a babysitter, even if it was Remus. “You should sleep.”

“I’ll sleep in History of Magic.” Remus stood and pulled on his own robe: a tattered, brown-ish thing that was probably once soft and comforting.

“Model student, you are,” Sirius muttered, but he didn’t protest any more. He enjoyed Remus’s company. Even grumpy, morning Remus.

They made their way to the West Tower, and Remus waited at the bottom of the stairs while Sirius climbed up to the owlery. He whistled twice, before the small barn owl that usually carried his letters to Andromeda landed on his arm. Sirius had named the owl Rogelio, because between him and Andromeda, Rogelio was the most ridiculous name for an owl that they could come up with. Rogelio didn’t seem to mind it, and despite belonging to Hogwarts, he was quick and unyieldingly loyal to Sirius, even though, more often than not, Sirius forgot the owl treats.

Andromeda said it had something to do with the natural charm and charisma of being the Black heir.

Sirius thought that was bullshit. He was naturally charming and charismatic on his own, thanks.

Sirius tied the letter to Rogelio’s leg, then fished in the pocket of his robe for some leftover biscuit crumbs—( _Gross, James._ )—to give the owl before sending him off.

Remus was slumped against the wall when Sirius descended the stairs. He thought for a moment Remus was asleep again, but then one amber eye quirked open.

“When are you going to ask McGonagall about the holidays?” Remus yawned into the question.

“Friday, I think,” Sirius replied. When Remus made no move to stand, Sirius slid down the wall opposite him and mirrored his position exactly. “Evans has this whole week of _good deeds_ planned. I’m tutoring third year Ravenclaws on their Charms homework, then helping Madam Pince sort through library returns—that was Evans’s idea and, please, kill me now—then something with Madam Pomfrey. I think.”

“How very altruistic of you,” Remus deadpanned, though the corner of his lip twitched upwards in a small, secret smile.

“Seemingly selfless deeds to further my own ends,” Sirius replied, matching his tone to Remus’s. “My mother would be so proud.”

“Pay the ferryman,” Remus said, and really, that was the end of it.

Sirius smiled, and it was only a little bit forced. “Feel like breakfast?”

“Breakfast doesn’t start for another hour,” Remus replied, but his stomach growled loud enough for Sirius to hear.

Sirius snorted a laugh, then pulled himself to his feet. “Doesn’t matter. I know where the kitchens are. You up for bribing the house elves into feeding us?”

For a second, Sirius thought Remus might protest because bribery and extortion, technically, were probably not ideal behaviour for someone who was supposed to be on his best behaviour, but in the end, Remus’s stomach won out.

“Lead the way,” he said.

Halfway down the stairs to the basement, Remus stopped so abruptly Sirius very nearly smacked into him.

“Re, wha—”

“Shh.”

Sirius swallowed a pit of dread that suddenly settled in his throat. “What is it?”

“Slytherins.”

_Shit_.

“Crabbe. And Macnair. I think.”

Sirius tried to edge around Remus, to see what might be going on, but Remus stepped in his way, again narrowly avoiding touching him. Remus turned on his heels to face Sirius.

“Crabbe has Renada Pines pinned against the wall. She’s a third year Hufflepuff. They’ve hexed her and she’s bleeding from somewhere and the Macnair is saying some horrible things.”

Sirius wasn’t entirely sure how Remus could know all that—he wasn’t even sure when Remus had had a chance to look around the corner without Sirius noticing—but that wasn’t important.

Macnair’s voice carried through the hall. “Fucking Mudblood slut. Never learns her place, does she?”

Sirius called his magic to his fingers, felt it dance, felt it flair up with the anger welling inside him. Next to him, Remus…

Well, for a hot second there, Sirius was pretty sure Remus _growled_.

“Right, then,” Sirius said. “This’ll be fun. Let’s go.”

Remus grabbed for his sleeve, narrowly missing the bare skin on Sirius’s wrist, and Sirius instantly leaped back to avoid the touch.

“Remus, what the hell?” Sirius hissed.

For a half a second, Remus had the decency to look mildly apologetic. “You can’t be here.”

“What?”

“Pay the ferryman,” Remus said, with a shrug. “McGonagall won’t side with you if she catches you hexing Slytherins.”

“But they’re—”

_Hurting her. Maiming her._

Remus said there was blood.

“I know,” Remus snapped. “I know, okay? And they’re not going to get away with it.”

Sirius gave him a look that he hoped properly conveyed his great distaste for this whole situation, specifically the part about Remus being right about McGonagall.

“You’re going to go find McGonagall,” Remus said. “You’re going to tell her what’s going on and get her to come down here immediately. I’m going to—” Remus waved his hand in the vague direction of where the Slytherins had Renada Pines pinned. “—help.”

“You want me to _snitch_?!” He felt the blood curdling in his veins at the very thought of it. It didn’t seem very Gryffindor to Sirius.

“I _need_ you to be safe. I don’t care about the fucking Slytherins. I _need_ to know that you’re safe, no matter what, and if you get in trouble now, you won’t be.”

Every instinct Sirius had screamed at him to fight Remus on this. Crabbe and Macnair were dangerous. All Slytherins seemed to already have it in for Remus. Crabbe and Macnair were fucking _monsters_ and Remus was about to throw himself in their path to save a Hufflepuff and—

“Please, Sirius,” Remus all but begged. “There are far more terrifying monsters out there than these tow morons. I won’t let you throw away your chance of escape. I need you to be _safe_.”

Goddamnit.

Sirius gave a shaky nod, turned on his heel, then headed back up the stairs.

It didn’t really occur to him until he was halfway to McGonagall’s office that he wasn’t exactly sure where McGonagall typically was at this hour. If she wasn’t in her classroom, she’d be in her quarters, and for the life of him, Sirius had no idea where the professors stayed.

_For the love of Merlin, someone really needs to make a map of this place._

His heart racing, Sirius sent a prayer to every deity he could think of as he knocked on McGonagall’s office door. Once, twice, three times, then nothing. He tried again, two quick raps, then he slapped his palms helplessly against the door.

He was torn between spelling the door open, running aimlessly through the halls shouting for McGonagall, or racing back to the kitchens to help Remus and the Hufflepuff, his own fate be damned.

“Shit,” Sirius mumbled, but he called his magic to his hands, little red sparks dancing between his fingertips.

The door swung open.

McGonagall loomed over him, her hair done up perfectly and her robes freshly pressed. She looked like she did during every lesson, not anything like he’d expected her to this early in the morning.

She scowled at him, a few wrinkles forming at the corners f er down-turned lips. Absently, Sirius wondered if those wrinkles had been there this whole time, or if he could take personal responsibility for them. He’d be rather proud of himself if it was the latter.

“Mr. Black.” McGonagall’s voice was laced with poison. “Is there a reason you’re trying to break into my office this early in the morning?”

“I knocked,” Sirius protested, then reined himself in. He didn’t have time to argue with her. “Remus and—”

“I will not have you breaking into my office for some prank—”

Merlin’s balls, she was _impossible_.

“Crabbe and Macnair have Rendada Pines pinned in the hallway by the kitchens. She’s hurt and Remus said she’s been hexed. He stayed to stop them. I came for help.”

McGonagall paused for a whole five seconds, her eyes zeroed in on his. Sirius did not dare look away.

“Is this a joke, Black?” McGonagall asked. “Because, rest assured, if it is—”

“ _No!_ It’s not a joke. She’s hurt, Professor. They hurt her and she needs _help_.”

An eyebrow went up, just over the rim of McGonagall’s square spectacles.

“Please, Professor.”

Remus put himself in danger to protect Sirius.

Sirius was not above begging McGonagall to make sure Remus was safe, too.

“Very well,” McGonagall said. She stepped aside and gestured to the empty chair in her office. “You will sit there until such time as I return. You will not move a single inch. If I find out that this is any sort of a trick—”

“Detention for the next millennia, a letter home, and writing lines until my hand falls off?” Sirius supplied.

McGonagall pursed her lips. “Indeed.”

Sirius brushed past her and sat in the chair. By the time he turned around, she’d already left.

She was only gone fifteen minutes. Sirius bit his nails and fidgeted the entire time. He ripped a hangnail off his index finger, then flicked his wrist to quickly heal it before the blood welled up.

McGonagall walked back into her office in a flurry of now-slightly-rumpled robes, trailed by Remus.

Sirius sat up straight, but did not stand, as Remus took a seat next to him. Remus had a bruise under his right eye, but otherwise appeared fine. He gave Sirius a small smile and a nod that was probably meant to convey something, but Sirius couldn’t quite work past the bruise and the gnawing guilt that had settled in his stomach.

Remus was _hurt_ and Sirius had been sitting here the entire time.

“I’m fine, Sirius,” Remus whispered, seeing the look on his face.

Sirius muttered a quick _Episkey_ and pointed his finger at Remus’s cheek. The bruise very quickly faded from purple to green to yellow, then it was gone and Remus was indeed fine.

Both boys turned to see McGonagall staring between them. She wore an expression that Sirius couldn’t quite read, but if he had to guess, he’d say she was confused by their exchange.

“Professor?” Sirius asked.

His voice seemed to bring her back to the present and her expression neutralised. “Ms. Pines is being treated by Madam Pomfrey as we speak. She’s expected to make a full recovery. I’ve entrusted the discipline of the Misters Crabbe and Macnair to Professor Slughorn, with the assurance that they are banned from the Quidditch team for the rest of their time at Hogwarts. Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin…”

Both Sirius and Remus sat up a little straighter.

“For your actions today, I’m awarding ten points to Gryffindor.”

The bitter, cynical voice in Sirius’s head said that if he’d been James Potter, McGonagall would’ve shelled out fifty points.

“You did the right thing, Mr. Black, in coming to me.” A crease appeared on McGonagall’s forehead as she said it and Sirius very nearly laughed at the physical pain it seemed to cause her to compliment him.

“If that’s all,” McGonagall said, “I expect to see the two of you at breakfast in an hour.”

Remus leaned forward in his chair, a hand held out to Sirius to tell him to stay put.

“Professor?” Remus asked.

McGonagall frowned. “What is it, Mr. Lupin?”

Remus turned to Sirius with a look on his face that Sirius understood instantly.

This was it.

If Sirius planned on asking McGonagall to stay over the holidays, he had to do it now, when he had somehow miraculously ended up in her favour.

“I do not have all day, Mr. Lupin.”

Sirius took a breath, then put on his most innocent face, and recited the words that he’d been practicing with Lily for weeks. “Professor, as you know, Remus and Lily Evans have been given special permission to conduct research on the nature and workings of wandless magic over the holidays. They’re in need of a test subject and they asked me to be their, ah, lab rat, I suppose. So I was hoping I could get your permission to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays to help them on their… academic endeavours. Please?”

Okay, so that wasn’t _exactly_ how they’d rehearsed it, that last sentence came out in a single breath, and the _please_ was more of an afterthought, but there it was. His fate in Minerva McGonagall’s hands.

Sirius was pretty sure his heart was going to leap out of his chest.

McGonagall held his gaze for a long, painful minute, her expression entirely inscrutable. Neither Remus nor Sirius dared to breathe.

Finally, with a deep frown, McGonagall said, “If you want to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays, Mr. Black, then you’ll need written permission from a parent.”

Remus took over when Sirius waited too long to respond.“Professor, Sirius’s parents have been somewhat… apathetic towards our project. Lily and I really want Sirius involved. He’s the best either of us have seen at wandless magic and we’d like to test the limits of what he can do. We’d hoped, as Sirius’s Head of House, you could over-rule his parents and—”

“No.”

Sirius’s entire world came crashing down with one word.

That’s what it was. It was just _No._ Not _No, I’m sorry, Black, but I must obey the rules_. Not _No, but maybe if you’d been a better student or hexed fewer Slytherins_. Not even _No, your actions today were pretty bloody heroic all the same_. _Good job, Mr. Black. You may be damned but you’re still a hero._

Just fucking _No._

Remus looked to be on that same razor-edge between sanity and total panic that Sirius was.

“Please, Professor, if you’d just consider…” Remus’s voice hitched and he started over. “You’ve seen how Sirius’s magic works. He just healed my face with a wave of his hand, for Merlin’s sake. Have you ever seen anyone who could—”

McGonagall’s piercing stare cut to Remus. “Professor Dumbledore has numerous books on the subject of wandless magic, Lupin. If you and Evans write to him, explaining your project, he’s sure to lend them to you. As for a live subject, if you ask nicely, I’m positive Professor Dumbledore will be more than willing to demonstrate the mechanics of wandless magic for you. Without permission from his parents, Black will not be allowed to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays.”

“But, Professor, please—”

“ _No._ ”

Her voice was harsh. Cruel, even. The final nail on Sirius’s coffin.

Remus looked terrified, like he was debating between going to war with McGonagall or taking Sirius and running as far as he could before they were caught and executed. He kept sneaking glances at Sirius, amber eyes pleading for a response, but Sirius was… shell-shocked. Numb all over.

“But… I did everything right.” Sirius’s voice came out broken, scared, as if whispered by someone much younger than twelve to the monster lurking under their bed.

He wasn’t even aware he’d said that out loud until McGonagall’s eyes trained on him and they were… _Murderous_.

Even Walburga Black would cower in fear.

“Am I to believe, _Black_ —” She spat out his name, like the poison it was. “—that your improved behaviour these past few weeks was motivated under the assumption that I would grant you a _favour_?”

Remus made a small noise. “No, Professor, it wasn’t like that, I—”

“ _Quiet_ , Lupin!” She never looked away from Sirius.

Sirius tried valiantly to melt into his chair.

McGonagall placed both hands flat on her desk and leaned forward. “Listen to me very closely, Black. I will not allow you to manipulate me into any favours. You name, your station, your family’s influence means _nothing_ to me and I will not tolerate this idea that you seem to have that you can get away with anything just because of who you are. That is how _Slytherins_ behave, Mr. Black, not Gryffindors and I will not stand for this blatant form of bribery in my house. Am I understood?”

“Professor, that’s not—” Remus started.

McGonagall’s sharp glare cut Remus off.

Sirius just nodded, just threw in the towel and fucking rolled over and surrendered to the inevitable, because what else could he possibly do?

“I will let you off just this once, on behalf of Ms. Pines and her continued safety thanks to your actions, but if I _ever_ catch wind of this sort of behaviour again, Black, you and I will have a serious conversation about your continued future at Hogwarts.”

Remus frantically glanced between Sirius and McGonagall, not quite willing to give up the fight. “Please, Professor, he can’t go home, it’s—”

“Why _not?_ ” McGonagall demanded.

But Remus couldn’t say, and Sirius wasn’t going to. Remus made a promise and Sirius was too much of a coward to acknowledge the horrors that awaited him out loud.

McGonagall’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I will hear no more of this. The two of you are needed at breakfast.”

 

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Sirius went to breakfast. He’s pretty sure he went to History of Magic, then lunch, then Potions—(Maybe? Did he have Potions today?)—and dinner, but he spaced it all out. No one really spoke to him or bothered him and everyone seemed to even deliberately avoid brushing past him in the halls, but Sirius didn’t think too much of it. He didn’t think too much of anything, really. Just one thought, over and over, and over.

He was fucked.

He was vaguely aware of Remus, hovering close all day, frantically whispering to James, then Lily, then Peeves? Did Remus talk much to Peeves?

By the time reality settled back around him, it was dark. The stars were shining overhead and Sirius was wrapped in a duvet that smelled like Remus, sitting in his usual spot on the roof.

Remus rapped on the window before climbing out, startling Sirius out of whatever fog he’d been in. Remus gave Sirius a weak smile, then sat down next to him, pressing up against the duvet from shoulder to hip.

Oh, how Sirius relished the dull pain.

“James said you made everyone else leave,” Remus muttered.

Sirius nodded, though if he’s honest, he didn’t quite remember doing that.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Sirius said. “You’re different.”

Remus gave him a look that said he’d very much like to explore that particular statement in depth, but he let it drop.

“Lily’s been in McGonagall’s office for over an hour, pleading your case.”

Remus didn’t seem particularly optimistic about the outcome, and, quite honestly, neither did Sirius . There was nothing else to do. He didn’t have any hope left to place on the shoulders of Lily Evans, no matter how stubborn she could be.

He wasn’t sure he had much of anything left in him.

Nothing felt real anymore.

He’d chosen Gryffindor, he’d made these friends who seemed to care about him far more than he was worth, and for what?

Nothing.

Walburga Black was going to carve away any speck of Gryffindor he had left in him, chisel him down until he was once again her perfect heir.

“I’m so _fucking_ scared, Remus,” he said, and _Merlin_ , where had the words even come from?

Remus draped an arm across Sirius’s shoulders and, _gods_ , it hurt, but it was real and tangible and this chosen pain was so much better than the _nothing_ welling up in his soul. Sirius leaned into the touch for as long as he could stand it, teeth gritted together and eyes squeezed shut.

All too soon, Remus pulled away and put some distance between them.

“What can I do, Siri? There has to be something I can do.”

Sirius shook his head, because there just _wasn’t_ anything else to do. This was it. His last chance, and it’d exploded in his face. He didn’t have any more cards to play.

On Saturday, he was going home to Grimmauld Place. To his mother and his father and a brother who might not even want to speak with him. Home, to a prison of torture and terror and whatever corporal and psychological punishments the Warden could concoct.

Home, to be tormented for trying to be brave, when everyone knew he was a coward.

Home, with a dead wand and a virtual noose around his neck.

Home, for nearly three fucking weeks.

“What can I do, Sirius?” Remus repeated, a note of pained desperation in his voice.

Sirius reached for anything left, that last little spark of courage in his heart and finally managed a smile.

“Read to me?” he said. “Until it’s too cold.”

Amber eyes glistened with unshed tears and so, so many unspoken words between them, but Remus bit his lip and nodded. He drew his wand and muttered a quick spell. A second later, an old, beat-up paperback came floating through the open window.

“Fuck what Evans says,” Remus proclaimed, opening the book after casting a quick _Lumos_. “Tonight, we’re reading _Beowulf_. He’s an expert at killing monsters, and, quite frankly, between the two of us, I think we need a monster slayer. Take notes.”

Sirius managed a soft laugh, then waved a heating charm over the both of them.

He got lost in the stars, in the steady cadence of Remus’s voice, in the epic story of a man who never stopped fighting the monsters that came for him.

It wasn’t _hope_ that settled in Sirius’s heart, because hope was long gone and had left him empty of almost anything. Terror still ate away at his insides, itself a raging monster threatening to swallow Sirius Black whole, but _this_?

This was stolen, and wholly undeserved _peace_ , next to Remus Lupin, on the roof of Gryffindor tower.

He knew it wouldn’t last, but Sirius revelled in it, for as long as there were still words left on the pages of Remus’s books, no matter the fate that had already been written for him when he returned to Grimmauld Place.

Here, _now_ , Sirius was safe.

He swore on everything that he believed in—on friendship, on James Potter’s ridiculous hair or Lily Evans’s freckles, on the stars shining infinitely above them, on the miraculous, leyline pattern of scars on Remus’s face—Sirius _swore_ on everything holy left in the world that he’d hold onto this moment for as long as he still drew breath.

 

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**DECEMBER 18, 1971**

 

Sirius was up, dressed, packed, and down in the courtyard on Saturday morning while everyone else was either eating breakfast in the Great Hall or packing in the dormitory. It wasn’t because he was in any way _excited_ about the prospect of going home—the opposite, in every possible way—but because he didn’t know if he had the strength left in him to bear everyone else’s excitement.

Though he knew James was as rightfully terrified for him as Remus and Lily were, James couldn’t quite keep the excitement out of his voice whenever he talked about the holidays.

Fairy-tale prince.

Sirius loved him for it, and decided he’d give almost anything to make sure that James Potter never had to face the kind of monster that lived in Grimmauld Place.

It was freezing in the courtyard and Sirius wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck. He’d transfigured it back to its original silver and green, though he doubted, at this point, it would make much of a difference when he got home.

His parents already knew he’d chosen Gryffindor over Slytherin.

At a quarter to nine, Sirius’s head snapped up when he heard the steady _clop_ of hooves and the rough grinding of wheels against cobblestone. One after another, droves of thestral-drawn carriages pulled into the courtyard.

The lead carriage marched right up to Sirius, coming to a halt in front of him. The two thestrals huffed, and one stamped its foot against the ground, its wings flaring a bit and knocking against the wings of the other.

Sirius was in awe of the creatures. They were _huge_ , for one, and as horrendously beautiful as the end of a nightmare: heart-pounding, gasping in relief to once more see the waking world. He’d seen them from a distance, of course, both in Care of Magical Creatures and at the beginning of the year when they’d first disembarked from the Hogwarts Express.

Sirius reached out a hand and the two thestrals edged closer, the one on the left ducking its enormous head so Sirius could stroke its nose. The thestral nickered its approval of the touch and pressed closer and Sirius wrapped both his hands around the thestrals nose, scratching and stroking. He stared into the thestrals eyes, endless pools of shadows and mist, with no discernible pupils, maybe nothing more than empty sockets, an unfathomable abyss that knew only nothing and death.

Oh, how Sirius longed to fall into that abyss.

“You can see them, too, huh.”

Remus didn’t sound particularly surprised at the fact.

Sirius, however, was rather surprised by the fact that _Remus_ could see them.

He wasn’t going to ask about it, though. If he asked Remus, then Sirius would have to tell him why _he_ could see the thestrals, and Sirius was nowhere near prepared to explain the whole story of Alphonse Auclair right now. He simply shrugged and let it drop.

Remus walked up next to him, his hands in his pockets and his head bowed a bit. Sirius did not release his grip on the thestral, nor did the creature back away from Remus. Cautiously, Remus reached out a hand to Sirius’s thestral. The thestral’s empty, shadowed eyes never left Remus as it slowly extracted itself from Sirius’s hold and pressed its face into Remus’s hand.

The thestral’s eyes closed and it pressed closer to Remus. It let out a sound that could only be described as a purr.

“It likes you,” Sirius said, and really, that was probably the most surprising thing yet. Every creature they’d encountered, from Hickory Dave to Hagrid’s kneazle, Spot, had shied away from Remus or, on more than one memorable occasion, run screaming in the other direction.

The thestral edged closer, until its forehead was pressed against Remus’s.

“It has no reason to be afraid of me,” Remus replied, and Sirius wondered if that was supposed to be some sort of explanation. “Christ, Sirius, it’s beautiful.”

The thestral backed away as other students began to trickle into the courtyard, bowing to Remus as it did so. Sirius looked around: smiling faces wrapped in hats and scarves and winter robes, thrilled to be going home for the holidays.

Merlin, he was going to be sick. His breaths came out in short, aborted gasps, and the edges of his vision went fuzzy.

Remus very deliberately grabbed his arm. Sirius gasped and his eyes locked on Remus’s, one, because it burned like divine fucking hellfire, and two, because Remus Lupin never intentionally touched him without a significant barrier between them.

“Promise me you’ll come back,” Remus whispered, his voice as broken and shattered as Sirius’s heart. “For the love of God, Sirius, please come back.”

Shakily, Sirius nodded, though he wasn’t sure he could promise such a thing, not with where he was going. For all he knew, if his parents didn’t outright kill him, he could be shipped of to Durmstrang at the start of next term.

Then, Remus pulled him into a hug, and long, impossibly strong arms wrapped tightly around Sirius’s waist. He wanted to cry or scream or pull away, because every nerve in his body was on the verge of spontaneous combustion, but instead he gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into Remus’s coat, clinging to him for all he’s worth. Sirius pressed his face into Remus’s neck, letting out a sob, because everything fucking _hurt_ , but it didn’t matter.

This…. _This_ was real. This was pain he’d only begun to fathom.

_This_ was a reason to live, a reason to grit his teeth through the horrors at Grimmauld Place.

_This_ was a promise that he’d come back.

After a moment, a minute, half of an eternity, Remus pushed him away and took a step back. They were both breathing hard, and Sirius couldn’t stop shaking, whether from pain or fear, he couldn’t say.

“I’ll be okay,” Sirius said, but they both knew it was a lie.

James and Peter made their way up to them, James’s carefree smile fading to nothing when he saw Sirius. Sirius’s gut clenched. What was left of his pride flared up and roared at the pity in James’s eyes, but outwardly, Sirius kept his face blank.

“Right, then,” James said, clapping Remus on the shoulder. “Talk me up to Evans, yeah? Tell her I love her.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Remus replied, his voice sounding strained.

For once in his life, James didn’t press the issue. Instead, he pulled Remus into a quick hug, then strolled towards the carriage.

“See you next term,” James said, with a forced smile. He was trying to be brave for all of them.

With one last pat on the thestral’s nose, Sirius made to follow James and Peter into the carriage.

Remus’s eyes never left Sirius’s, brilliant amber shining in the morning sun. Merlin, Sirius prayed he could remember that forever.

“Yeah,” said Remus. “Next term.”

Sirius didn’t smile. He didn’t even react, because he’d already made that promise.

Now, he just had to survive. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy. Sorry I absolutely suck with updates, but I wanted to get this out before my birthday tomorrow. The next one should be coming soon (definitely sooner than three fucking months!) and it's definitely going to meet the rating. (Sorry, Sirius, I love you, but this part of the story might get a little dark.)
> 
> Anyway, if you wanna chat, find me on tumblr @sirius-black-killed-god.
> 
> Next up: YE WHO ENTER.


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